


you never have to wander, wonder

by sieges



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Buzzfeed Worth It Fusion, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Gratuitous Amount of Social Media Interaction, High School, Implied Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Internet Famous, M/M, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu & Suna Rintarou Friendship, Slow Burn, Suna Rintarou-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24227932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sieges/pseuds/sieges
Summary: Between food sharing, intimate conversations, special smiles, and thousand-word pictures, this is how Suna tries tonotdeal with a crush.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 93
Kudos: 694
Collections: OsaSuna Week 2020, SunaOsa





	you never have to wander, wonder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jayjem_jam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayjem_jam/gifts), [currerb3ll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/currerb3ll/gifts).



> this was supposed to have a 7k max word count and i finished this in apparently 8 days and idk how that happened, so sorry if this is a big mess because it turned out way longer than i expected  
>    
> [1] dedicated to jenny, the only person i had been thoroughly gushing to about osasuna for probably two months. you don’t know how hard it was to hide the fact that i was writing this for you considering that you asked about it. the idea of the fic is also inspired by you, because when i asked what exactly was their dynamic, you just said that osamu’s the one who can cook and suna’s the one who snapchats everything.  
> [2] this is basically a buzzfeed worth it au, but you don’t need to know that program to understand this fic, because i also just got the base idea and made my own version to fit the narrative.  
> [3] the narrative happens during their second year before interhigh (so during the time frame where karasuno was at the training camp thing, and technically pre-canon ("past") since inarizaki debuted in spring high nationals).  
> [4] for osasuna week day 1: past, summer, and bastille's glory lyrics  
> 

_“you make me laugh until i die,_ _  
__can you think of any better way to choke?”_  
—glory, bastille

* * *

The moment Suna met the twins, he thought to himself, _there’s no way I’d let myself get caught up in any of these idiots’ antics._

Yet, in his two years of knowing them, here he is. 

“How on earth did I get roped into this,” Suna deadpans. 

“It’ll be fun,” Atsumu chirps, even though the question is rhetorical and Suna doesn't actually want a reply back, much less from _Atsumu_ , of all people. 

They’re the only ones in the clubroom. Like some loosely inspired homage to interrogation scenes from action flicks, only the center light is on and Suna is sitting down on the plastic chair. Across the table are the twins, standing up and looking like they’re up to no good—or, well, Atsumu in particular. Osamu has the same slack-faced expression he usually wears when it means he’s giving Atsumu free reign to do... whatever they’re planning to do to Suna. This rarely happens, but it occurs enough for Suna to be able to tell which moment is which. 

Suna eyes the door. It’s all the way on the other side of the room, twelve feet away, but he knows it’s unlocked and the keys are with Atsumu, so Kita isn’t going to get mad at Suna if he tries making a break for it without ensuring the club room is locked because he’s the most responsible one out of all the second years. Then again, Suna thinks Kita should understand that these are not normal circumstances, and that he shouldn’t have left before the twins did. 

Atsumu notices where Suna’s looking. He slams his hands down on the table, and Suna can’t help but jolt. “Nope,” he says. “Don’t even think ‘bout it.”

Really, the scene is becoming too eerie. All they have to do is handcuff Suna to the table and they’re already set. Not that they really need to though—not when his 100 yen macarons are on the line. It took him a twenty minute walk and week-long patience to wait for a hot, summer day after practice like this, because the pastry, fresh from the refrigerator and cold to the touch, would’ve been perfect to eat. 

Right now, it’s in the twins’ hands. 

“I hate you two,” Suna announces, leaning back on his seat. It’s as much of a defeat as he’s willing to show, but they seem content with it, because Atsumu pulls back and straightens his posture. “Don’t get me involved. They went to _you_ , not me. This isn’t my problem.”

“And just as they went to us, we went to you.” 

“You’re just too lazy to learn how to use a camera,” Suna points out. Atsumu and Osamu don’t have anything to say to that, because Suna is right. “And if these guys are funding everything, you should’ve just requested for your own camera crew.

“Sunarin, they’re already givin’ us so many benefits. Seems a ‘lil ungrateful if we still continue botherin’ ‘em for s’more.” 

“So you just decided to bother me.” Suna’s mouth twists. “I’m not doing it.”

“Aw, c’mon, man. Don’t be like this—”

“No.”

“Sunarin—”

“Shut up.”

“I ain’t cavin’ in ‘till we get a yes.”

The last thing Suna had felt after practice was tired, but now, he feels the weariness practically seeping in his bones. He still has summer homework to start on when he gets home. His dad is going home late tonight, so he has to cook his own dinner or get takeout. Tomorrow, he has to be up before noon because Kita wants them to have practice earlier than normal. Aran also asked him to run an errand or two as next year’s team captain candidate, like some sort of initiation to see how qualified he was for a position Suna hadn’t even been actively vying for and knows that Atsumu wants way more.

Suna just wants to eat his macarons. He is not in the mood to listen to Atsumu’s childish persuasion methods. The setter is stupid if he thinks Suna will give into doing the Miya twins’ dirty work if he just acts annoying enough for Suna to agree. 

“Dammit,” Atsumu swears. “‘Samu, back me up here, won't ya?”

Osamu hasn’t said a word the entire exchange, which Suna hadn’t necessarily pegged as _odd_ because even if this counted as the _twins’_ scheme, it’s more of Atsumu because he’s the one who got the offer due to his fame. It only makes sense that the guy with the badly dyed blonde hair does the majority of the work. 

But then, as much as Atsumu and Osamu butt heads, they always have one another’s back for this kind of thing. _If_ it benefits them. And Osamu definitely wouldn’t be here if he didn’t get anything out of it. 

Suna glances at Osamu. The latter doesn’t seem to be listening, much more focused on peering into Suna’s now-opened box of macarons. With how close his face is into the box’s inside, it’s almost as if he’s trying to inhale the scent to make up for the fact that he isn’t eating it. Except Suna knows a lost cause when he sees one, and Osamu is definitely going to end up eating those even if they aren’t his to begin with. And to think they’re supposed to use it as a bargaining chip to get Suna to relent. 

Immediately, Suna thinks, _fuck it_. He looks to the door again. While Atsumu is berating Osamu for losing focus on the task, Suna makes full use of the opportunity. 

He bolts. 

Suna is leagues above the rest in terms of using his upper body strength, but his toned legs aren’t just for show either, so he likes to think that he can make it. He runs out of the clubroom, takes a turn to the right so he’s at the side of the building, and then another turn right because he’d rather use the back route to get out of campus instead of the main one, the path he knows they expect him to use. He usually doesn’t take this passageway because more often than not there are couples making out or doing other disgusting things, but it’s late enough in the afternoon that he thinks most of them have already gone home already. 

It’s a good thing he’d been holding onto his school and sports bag the entire time. As much as he loved those macarons, they’re not as valuable as his actual stuff. It’s not like he can’t buy more anyway. They’re just a hundred fucking yen. 

In his defense, he gets far. Past the clubroom building, past the gym, past the staff building. It’s only when he’s halfway through the library that he gets stopped. Someone grabs his bag and pulls hard, so he’s sent stumbling back. He catches himself right before he can ungracefully fall flat on his ass, but then the person immediately slams him against the wall and pins him there with one hand pressed to the wall and body leaning a bit too close. 

It takes Suna a beat to realize that it’s Osamu. It takes another beat for him to think, _I’m a guy. Why the fuck is he wall-slamming me?_

He opens his mouth to tell Osamu, but the words die in his throat when he catches the intense look in the other’s eyes. The back of his neck prickles at the gaze, and he feels like any minute now he could break into a sweat, and it’s not just because of their proximity. Suna can’t tell what’s going on in Osamu’s head just from looking at his eyes alone, but Osamu has always been more difficult to figure out than Atsumu when it really matters, so he knows there’s no point in trying. Instead, he says, and he curses himself for how it comes out like a nervous croak, “Osamu?”

Osamu doesn’t notice the way his voice sounds. The unreadable look fades into something more determined. “Please say yes,” he says, and the desperate way he sounds doesn’t align with the hardened expression he wears, like he’s willing to do unspeakable things to Suna just to get him to agree. “‘Tsumu won’t let it go and I don’t wanna be stuck doin’ it with that bastard.” 

“You could get _so_ many other people to do it.”

Osamu gives him an unimpressed look. The only other people the twins could afford to ask are Kita and Ojiro because they’re the only ones really used to dealing with their shit on a near-daily basis besides Suna, but everyone already knows how they’re going to respond even without asking. 

Suna just shrugs, though it’s kind of hard to do considering that Osamu is still really, _really_ close to him. The fact that Osamu either doesn’t notice their proximity or doesn’t care is making him feel a bit frustrated. Is this some kind of intimidation tactic because blackmailing just won’t do it? Because it’s _working_. “What makes you think I want to be stuck with him too?”

“He’ll tone down if yer there.”

“Please don’t tell me you actually believe that.” 

“I mean, he’s gotta. Sponsors are involved and shit’s gonna get broadcasted. This is serious business.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but unless it’s volleyball, nothing is serious for you guys.”

The thing is, it’s not like Atsumu is the _only_ problem. There’s a reason Suna doesn’t want to get involved in _both_ the twins’ shit, not just one of them. But he doesn’t tell Osamu that. If he really had to choose—like a bullet-pressed-against-his-head kind of situation, in a _life or death_ scenario—he’d rather deal with Osamu than Atsumu. Osamu isn’t that insufferable so long as his brother isn’t there, and besides, Suna and Osamu mesh well together, not just because they’re classmates. Sometimes Suna thinks they’re even the same, except for the fact that he’s less prone to acts of stupidity and doesn’t have a brother that brings out the absolute worst in him. 

Osamu doesn’t defend himself. He cocks his head, considering. He looks infuriatingly handsome like this. Suna has the sudden impulse to bash his head against the wall to get rid of the thoughts. Or against Osamu’s head. “It’s summer,” he eventually says. “What better way to spend the break than to do somethin’ fun with friends?” 

Suna can think of a couple, especially given that they couldn’t have picked a better time to do this. Interhigh. Summer homework. Training in between all that. Worrying about the future even though he’s a second-year because he still has no idea what to do after high school ends and he’s not exactly getting any younger. Wasting whatever free afternoons and mornings he has sleeping. 

“Also, free food,” Osamu adds. 

To be fair, Suna thinks, the last two activities are overrated anyway.

“Fine,” he relents, trying not to look away, even though he’s well aware that this goes against everything he stands for and he _still_ thinks it is a terrible, terrible idea. 

But really, Suna doesn’t think he can be at fault for agreeing when Osamu leaning closer and closer to him isn’t exactly helping him think straight. It doesn’t help that the other still doesn’t even seem to realize it. 

Osamu smiles. It takes all of Suna’s willpower to _not_ blush because there’s no way the older _wouldn’t_ see it. The spiker doesn’t move back. Their faces are only a few inches apart. Suna can’t press against the wall anymore to create some distance between them. “It’ll be fun. You’ll be compensated.”

Finally, Osamu pulls away, standing up properly instead of leaning all his weight on the hand pressed against the wall, the one that had been right beside Suna’s head the entire time. Suna feels like he can breathe safely again, but his heart betrays him by twinging nonetheless. He can’t believe this is only the first day of summer break. “You saying it instead of Atsumu doesn’t make me feel any safer, you know.”

“Who d’ya say yes to in the end though,” Osamu cheekily points out. 

Suna doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he asks, “Did you eat my macarons?”

Osamu blinks. “No, but they’re with ‘Tsumu.”

So basically, they’re gone. Suna sighs. _Compensated_ , Osamu says. This is nothing but divine punishment. “Whatever. I’m going home.”

* * *

Suna _knows_ that Miya Atsumu is famous. But he always associated that kind of fame to being recognized by other athletes and receiving awards from the school for his accomplishments; it’s something to marvel at, sure, but only in the context of sports. Outside of it, Miya Atsumu is just like any other teenager there is in the world. Passionate, trying his best, and stupid. 

Except he isn’t. A month before the summer break, Atsumu gets contacted by some food restaurant that wants to use him as a model for their promotional material. It’s not exactly like the getting-his-face-on-a-banner-plastered-all-over-Tokyo-advertising-tuna fantasy he’s always bragged about having someday when he’s a big shot athlete, but he’s getting there. 

“This is a pretty sweet deal if ya ask me,” Atsumu had said. “Always wanted free baked bread.”

Osamu gave him a dry look. “Liar. Ya just said ya hated bread when I gave you some last week.”

“Oh, ‘Samu, that’s just ‘cause it’s yers!”

Aran and Gin had pointedly ushered the rest of the team out of the room to avoid playing spectator to Osamu and Atsumu trying to tear each other’s throats apart. 

So it starts there, really. Atsumu gets one offer from this smaller bakery, but then that bakery becomes a semi-hit and more offers come pouring in for Atsumu to reign customers in by promoting their underappreciated food. Playing poster boy isn’t really a thing anymore when Atsumu belongs to a generation that gains attention over the net and through a black screen, and life-sized standees and posters just don’t have the same effect anymore.

But posting a picture of what he’s eating and writing down his positive opinion about it on a caption is too boring for Atsumu’s tastes, so he ropes Osamu into his scheme—not that it’s hard, considering that it’s about food—and they come up with a way to make it fun. 

“Let’s vlog it together and be even more famous,” he told Osamu. _Even more famous_. The nerve of this guy. “You have more followers than me, and the only thing ya got goin’ for you is yer face! Which you stole from me!”

“Yer the one who did the stealin’,” Osamu retorted. Their argument made sense to no one but themselves. “It ain’t my fault people like me more, and it ain’t just all ‘bout volleyball. ‘Sides, I can edit a video or two, yeah, but we need a cameraman. No way I’m doin’ most of the work, and ‘Tsumu, ya can’t even properly make a PowerPoint.”

And really, Suna regrets telling Osamu that he used to be president of his middle school’s film club on the first day they met. 

* * *

The twins decide the first thing on their agenda is to make up for eating Suna’s macarons. Ironically enough, one of the offers Atsumu has is macarons from some expensive bakery Suna has never heard of in his entire life. Except instead of going straight there, they tell him instead to take them to his beloved hundred yen macaron shop. 

Suna blinks, clutching onto his camera tightly. “If you’re telling me that I’ll be eating macarons that cost a hundred yen while you eat macarons that cost nine thousand, I’m leaving.”

“I mean, I don’t think a macaron can cost that much...” Atsumu drifts off. 

“Oh, ‘Tsumu probably forgot to tell ya, like an idiot,” Osamu pipes up, ignoring Atsumu’s indignant squawk of protest. “But we’re thinkin’ of framin’ this as a comparison video, y’know? Compare the same kind of food with drastically different prices and say which one’s the most worth it at its price.”

Suna frowns. “If you don’t pick the ones Atsumu was sponsored for though, then aren’t you violating the agreement you made? They want you to support their food, after all.”

Atsumu shrugs. “I doubt they’ll taste bad since they’re so freakin’ expensive. ‘Sides, have ya seen the internet nowadays? Even if I don’t pick it as a winner, I’d have promoted it anyway. There are lotsa rich people online, Sunarin, so they’re bound to go there. These businesses just want to get their name out.” 

“We’ll be comparin’ three of the same food.” Osamu holds up three fingers. “The one ‘Tsumu’s got a freebie for, another with the opposite price, which is always gonna be somethin’ cheap since they can’t afford to hire this high maintenance idiot, and one that we’ll make ourselves.”

“Make?” 

“Don’t worry,” Osamu reassures him. “I’ll be the one makin’ 'em.”

Suna sighs. This is so much work. Why can’t these idiots just eat the goddamn food they’re being offered, compliment it, and then call it a day?

“Where’s the fun in that, Sunarin?” Atsumu questions, because Suna voiced out his thoughts without meaning to. “It’s summer. We should spend it enjoyin’ every second of it. We ain’t gonna be this age forever.”

There are a number of comebacks on Suna’s tongue, but he isn’t Osamu, and doesn’t take any genuine satisfaction in arguing with Atsumu. “Osamu,” Suna says instead, turning to the boy in question. “You do realize you’re doing more work here if you agree to do this.” Though it’s Atsumu’s connections, the only thing he’s really doing is eating. Suna is in charge of filming them, and Osamu will be the one editing the video _and_ making whatever food they’re going to be videoing about from scratch. 

“‘S okay.” Osamu shrugs. “I wanted to anyway.”

Suna just looks at him. Osamu meets his gaze easily, expression even. Staring contests with Osamu have never been something Suna is particularly skilled at for a plethora of reasons, so he averts his eyes because it’s not worth the effort. Besides, Suna doesn’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to looking at Osamu’s obnoxiously pretty face for extended periods of time. 

“Alright,” Suna eventually says. “But I’m choosing, and you’re paying for all the ones I buy.”

* * *

“What d’ya think, ‘Tsumu?”

“Hmm, it’s pretty hard, so the first bite was a bit difficult, but I realized that it ain’t that bad. See?” Atsumu holds the macaron up with his fingers, the tips pressing relentlessly at the center. No matter how hard he pushes, it takes a few seconds for a crack to notably form on the shell. “Least it doesn’t crumble immediately.”

“If it’s hard like this, it means it ain’t fresh,” Osamu explains. “The shell ain’t crispy, and the inside is only chewy ‘cause it’s old.”

Atsumu nods like he knows what the fuck Osamu is saying, except Suna _knows_ Atsumu really couldn’t give a crap because he shares the same eat-all trait as his brother but not the ability to distinguish particular characteristics of food to the same detail and certainty. “Also,” Atsumu picks up the blue macaron and the white one. “Don’t these kinda taste the same? I thought different colors meant different flavors.”

“Probably not for this shop,” Osamu replies. “They didn’t label them based on flavor, but color. So they all got the same taste, but just look different.”

“That’s a scam.”

“It’s a hundred yen, guys. The fuck did you expect?” Suna can’t help but exasperatedly point out from behind the camera. 

“Sunarin! How could ya! Yer swearin'!”

Suna rolls his eyes but continues filming. Because Atsumu’s too noisy, he ends up narrowing the camera’s focus on Osamu, who is lost in thought as he looks down at the half-eaten macarons. It’s the kind of expression one would make when trying to interpret a poem or answer a test, even though Suna is pretty sure Osamu has never dedicated this much of his attention to either of those before in his life. Suddenly, Osamu glances up and stares straight into the camera. Suna would’ve faltered and the steadiness of the shot would’ve been ruined if not for how he’s an experienced enough photographer to _not_ do that, but it doesn’t change the fact that Osamu’s gaze is piercing even when he’s seeing it through a lens, nor the fact that it catches Suna off guard. 

“Suna,” Osamu says. “Come here and have a bite, won’t ya? Just set the camera down on the table for a bit.” 

Suna can’t help but press the camera closer to his chest in a protective stance, reluctant to let it go. The last time he used this camera, it was for the _matsuri_ when he was a first-year. Though he’s never been a stranger to those events in the first place, this one had been special because it was his first festival as a student of Inarizaki High, which also meant his first time going with Miya Osamu. The last thing he wants is for either of the twins to snoop through his gallery and see an alarming amount of candid Osamu pictures. There’s no guarantee that the moment he sets it down, one of them isn’t going to get their grubby hands on it. More likely Atsumu than Osamu, given that Osamu actually respects Suna—to some extent—but the thought doesn’t reassure him that much.

“I’m good,” Suna replies. The macaron shop is too small to have their own seats, but they do have those tall round pub tables right beside the window for customers to eat, even if they have to stand. They’re fortunately the only ones inside, the employee who they bought the macarons from inside the staff room for some reason. Suna would die out of embarrassment if they were strangers watching them film, but even the streets outside are empty. “You’re buying me a pack of six anyway.”

“Are we?” Atsumu questions while finishing the rest of the blue macaron. Suna narrows his eyes at him. “Right. We are. Totally.” 

“Yeah, but ya haven’t tried it yet, right?” Osamu says. He cups the remains of the white macaron and walks towards Suna. “Here. Just take a bite and tell me whatcha think.”

“That’s your job, not mine,” Suna points out. Osamu gives him a look before raising the pastry to Suna’s face. “What are you doing?”

“The reason yer not getting any ‘cause yer hands’ll get dirty, and then ya won’t be able to hold yer camera,” Osamu says, matter-of-fact. “Ain’t this the best way for you to eat?”

That’s not why Suna doesn’t want to set down his camera, but Osamu has a point, so he’ll take it. Being fed by him isn’t exactly what Suna considers to be a good idea though, so he pauses reluctantly, and Osamu doesn’t fail to notice.

 _Isn’t this weird?_ Suna wonders. _Why doesn’t Osamu find this weird?_

“Suna.” Osamu sighs. Suna is still frowning, going a bit cross-eyed as he stares at the macaron like it’s done something to insult him. And it has, because it’s letting itself sit in Osamu’s hands and becoming an instrument to get Osamu to feed him. Suna wonders what he’d done to offend whatever higher being up there. “The fuck you bein’ so chicken for? Do ya really not wanna eat it?”

“No.” Suna replies quietly, but he doesn’t explain himself. 

Osamu scrunches his nose up in confusion. It’s cute. There’s no way Suna can tell Osamu to back off when he looks like that. “Suna, c’mon.” Suna still isn’t budging. Then, softly, Osamu says, “‘Tarou.”

 _This guy is going to kill me,_ Suna thinks amidst the loud sound of his heart beating erratically. “Fine,” he says, opening his mouth. 

Osamu smiles and pushes the macaron into Suna’s mouth. “What d’ya think?”

Suna doesn’t reply, still in the process of carefully taking a bite off the cookie Osamu holds. It’s technically not a big deal. It’s not like Osamu’s fingers go anywhere close to Suna's mouth, no lips touching skin, and it’s not like feeding your friends in the first place is something to write home about. Osamu is just weird, with his insistence on feeding Suna and the expression he’s making right now as he watches Suna chew because it’s not like there’s anything particularly interesting about Suna doing something everyone does. Or maybe Suna’s the weird one because he’s the one overthinking everything, who keeps on hesitating and pushing things away even though he inevitably lets himself get pulled back just because of one boy. 

But isn’t it only reasonable for Suna to be like this, when Suna is, when Osamu is, when they’re both—

“Yer _both_ weird, what the hell,” Atsumu abruptly declares, cutting Suna’s thoughts short. Despite his words, Atsumu’s phone is up, and he looks like he’s—

“Are you _videoing_ us?” 

Atsumu sets his phone down. “I mean, I _was_ , but,” He looks down at the screen mournfully. “This shit’s blurry as hell. This really ain’t my thing. Can’t do any behind-the-camera business. If this ain’t a testament to how I was born for the spotlight, I dunno what is.”

There’s a little vein popping near Osamu’s forehead, and he raises his fist threateningly. “‘Tsumu, I swear, if you say one more thing—”

“Like what, ‘Samu? Whatcha gonna do, huh? What—ow!”

Suna ends the recording and quietly swallows. The macaron tastes like it’s worth a hundred yen, but it’s good. 

* * *

Their next destination—the supposed star of this video, the one Atsumu was offered for free by the owners—is a ten-minute walk from Suna’s hundred yen macaron shop, but somehow it manages to feel like it lasts for an entire hour before they reach the pastry shop because Osamu and Atsumu won’t stop arguing. Halfway through the journey, Suna resorts to slipping on his headphones and looking at the various faces Osamu would make at Atsumu as they let out muted words and phrases Suna doesn’t even attempt to understand. 

He wonders if it’s rude to think that when the twins are like this, he’s perfectly fine with being unable to hear Osamu’s voice and stare at his face instead, like his attractiveness alone makes up for how admittedly grating he occasionally gets when he’s bickering with his brother. Suna wishes someone told him before that just because you like someone doesn’t mean you go blind to all their bad qualities, and it doesn’t mean you stop liking them just because of those either. 

Then again, no one ever said love was easy. 

The cafe where Atsumu is getting the free pastry is at the rich side of town, so Suna hates it immediately. The interior is heavily European-themed, there are other customers around them, and everything is in English. Suna has never felt so out of place. 

The macaron is also worth 7500 yen. It’s not the 9000 yen Suna had guessed, but it’s close enough. It’s a good thing that they aren’t paying for a dime thanks to Atsumu. 

Suna films them on the table across, watching them as they cut a piece of their own respective macarons—they were supposed to share just one, but they’re the Miya twins, so of course, that doesn’t actually happen—and make a toast by clinking their forks together before digging in. Suna yawns quietly and drowns out their commentary. The cafe is noisier than the one the macaron shop they were in earlier, so they have to clip on the microphones to their clothing to easily speak into it. It’s Suna’s equipment, something he wasn’t asked to bring but took with him before he left his house because he knows Osamu is going to throw a fit when he’s editing and realizes that they can barely be heard over all the background noise. 

Watching them through the camera, Suna rests his chin on his palm. For close-up shots, he tried using the camera at first, but he ended up having to use his phone’s camera instead because taking the camera off the table to do extreme close-ups and then attempting to reposition it to its original spot to maintain consistency is too much trouble. He’s a little annoyed at himself for how he hadn’t brought a second camera, even if he doesn’t use that one often because it’s much older and it’s not in the best of shape. 

The truth is, he doesn’t actually need to do anything more than medium shots and medium close-ups, nothing more than the bare minimum of what the twins want for their stupid video log, but Suna wants the video to come out nicely, like it was professionally shot, so for that, Osamu needs good footage. If the two notice the extra effort he puts by giving them specific instructions like letting him take a few shots of their food and how they eat it from certain angles, they don’t comment on it. 

“Sunarin, d’ya want some?” Atsumu asks him around a mouthful. 

“‘Tsumu, you can’t offer what ya don’t have.”

“Shaddap, ‘Samu! I’ll order him ‘nother one!”

Osamu frowns. Suna looks up from the camera. It hurts his eyes, trying to view everything through a screen when the twins are much bigger and closer in person, just right across him. “You sure the lady will give us ‘nother freebie?”

At that, Atsumu stops. “Ah, I don’t actually know ‘bout that...”

Osamu rolls his eyes. “Like Suna’s gonna waste 7500 yen on a macaron.” He has a point. That’s the total amount of money Suna has in his _wallet_ , and he still has to buy something on the way home. Osamu looks at him. “Suna?”

Suna doesn’t remember what they said about the macaron, but it doesn’t look any different from the ones they were eating before. He remembers catching some of the stuff Osamu said—that he had a brief talk with the owner while Atsumu was distracted by their surroundings and Suna was trying to set up and position the camera, and that these particular macarons were expensive because the bakers used imported ingredients from Europe, wanting to capture the essence of “France” in their pastry, whatever that meant. Suna hadn’t cared much for the pretentious story; he ended up paying more attention to the excited glint in Osamu’s eyes as he rambled about the story to a half-listening Atsumu and the future viewers they’ll soon get once the footage comes out. 

“Maybe later,” Suna says offhandedly. He really does like the way Osamu says his name. It’s not a thought he’s often entertained, but this day has honestly been full of nothing but surprises. 

They leave a few minutes later after the lady asks Osamu for an autograph to give to her daughter, thinking he was Atsumu. Suna has a good laugh and recorded footage of Atsumu’s indignation at Osamu taking advantage of her confusion and giving her a botched version of Atsumu’s actual signature that he sends to the Inarizaki chat, and then Suna opens the paper bag that has Osamu’s half-eaten macaron. 

The camera hangs loosely around his neck as he takes a bite. For some reason, he hears Atsumu teasing him that he’s just had an indirect kiss with Osamu, even though the real Atsumu is still complaining about Osamu hogging all the glory as they walk ahead, and it’s not like this is the first time today Suna has eaten food that was previously eaten and half-finished by the spiker. 

It bugs Suna regardless, and it’s why he crushes the paper bag into a ball and throws it with perfect accuracy right at the back of Atsumu’s head. 

“What the fuck did I do?” Atsumu bellows. 

“Exist,” Suna deadpans.

Osamu cackles. Suna feels something in him stir, light and pleased. Atsumu storms away in a huff, and Osamu approaches his side to bump shoulders with him before saying they should follow his stupid brother. 

Suna doesn’t move immediately. As Osamu goes ahead, Suna raises his camera and snaps a picture. The quality of the image is better than anything his phone could capture, but he can’t help but wish Osamu would turn around at the last minute and smile so he can take the perfect candid photo. 

But Osamu doesn’t, and he just continues walking. 

After a beat, Suna deletes the photo and catches up to him. 

* * *

They don’t have practice the next day, but Suna wakes up early to grudgingly make the trek to the Miya twins’ house because Osamu had wanted to film the last segment of their vlog immediately since he wanted to start on editing right after. Suna compiled all the videos in a hard drive the older had given him, but what took almost his entire night was the fact that he had to filter all of the footage he took to ensure that he didn’t accidentally give Osamu anything that would make him raise an eyebrow in alarm. 

The only reason Suna isn’t complaining about the obnoxiously early time Osamu wants him to be there is because (1) he also wants to get this over with and (2) he’s sure Atsumu will do all the whining for him. 

His father looks at him strangely when he sees Suna trudge down the stairs at eight in the morning, because he knows his son is not a morning person. When Suna mentions that he’s heading over to the Miya’s though, the understanding in his eyes and the weighted way he tells him to _have fun_ suddenly gives Suna the energy to run away from his house as fast as he can from embarrassment. He doesn’t stop to wonder about why his dad is still in the house when he usually leaves for work at six. 

He’s been to the twins’ house enough times due to unproductive study sessions that when their mother greets him at the door, her beam is wide and merry enough for Suna to feel less sullen about the fact that he woke up at this god-awful hour and went all the way here just for his stupid friends. “Rintarou-kun! Perfect timing. Osamu was mumblin' about how he wanted ya here already before you rang.” Suna has no idea what that means. Does that even mean anything? It’s eight in the morning. He doesn’t want to worry about this. “He’s in the kitchen right now. Atsumu's knocked out on the couch, the poor thing; he didn’t seem to wanna wake up, but his brother bugged him 'bout it ‘till he caved.”

“Miya-san.” Suna bows politely. He still has no idea how he should reply to her statement, so he doesn’t. “Thank you for having me.”

She claps her hands cheerily. “‘Course I do. Yer like another son to me. Don’t tell Osamu I said that though.” She winks at him like they’re sharing some kind of inside joke.

Suna still has no idea what to say. He just enters the house when she beckons him to come inside. 

She tells him shortly that she needs to go because she’s already late for work, and then instructs that the three boys better be good in a voice loud enough to rival Osamu and Atsumu’s shouting combined before going. The twins may get most of their looks from their father, but there’s no doubt that she’s their mother. 

Suna walks to the living room, and sure enough, Atsumu sprawled on the couch, one leg dangling out and mouth parted open, snoring loudly. Suna turns his camera on and takes a picture. He accidentally forgets to turn off the flash, so the light hits Atsumu right in the eyes, and the latter makes an annoyed groan before trying to turn on his side to look away. He underestimates how much space is left for him to move though, so he ends up rolling off the couch and landing on the floor with a heavy thud. 

“Fuck.Me.” Atsumu groans, now conscious and sitting up, tenderly rubbing his side. “What the fuck d'ya just do to me?”

“You're imagining things,” Suna says innocently, lowering the camera just in time. 

“Whatever happened, you probably deserved it,” Osamu pipes up from the threshold of the dining area, leaning on the door frame. “Suna, d’ya eat any breakfast?”

“If I say no, are you going to feed me macarons for breakfast?” Suna asks suspiciously. 

“Have ya?”

“No.” 

“Then my answer’s no too. I haven’t made jackshit yet.” Osamu replies, turning around. “C’mon, we don’t have all goddamn day, y'know.”

“It’s like eight in the mornin’, ‘Samu,” Atsumu points out, stretching his arms. “Don’t tell me yer gonna spend the entire day doin’ this crap.”

“Baking’s a long process, ‘Tsumu. If ya did somethin’ else ‘sides just _eat_ , you’d know this.” 

There’s a box of Suna’s favorite brand of cereal on the center countertop, but he chooses not to question it because it’s not that far-fetched that either of twins or both of them like it too, though Atsumu casts one look at the cereal before huffing like the cereal has insulted him and getting a fitness bar from the pantry instead. It’s easy enough for Suna to find a bowl in the cupboards and where the utensils are at—a result of spending too much time here and learning to deal with Osamu and Atsumu’s general lack of hospitality. 

The Miya kitchen has three countertops: one right beside the door frame, serving as some sort of open window between the kitchen area and the living room, the other is the one stationed right in the center of the entire kitchen area, and the last is where all the cooking is meant to be done—the stoves and sink and oven are all there, as well as a large clear surface for them to place their ingredients and do all the hard grunt work required when making food. He stayed over for dinner here the day after they won the Interhigh Preliminaries, gaining the ticket to participate in the Nationals itself, and he watched from the window area as Miya-san cooked them a hearty dinner. Osamu's wearing the same apron his mom had been wearing back then, the all-black one with fox patterns splattered around. 

On the countertops are countless ingredients Suna guesses are meant for the macarons Osamu will be making. He sets his camera down on the window countertop to get a good view of the entire kitchen and pulls a bar stool for him to sit on as he eats. 

Atsumu snickers. “See that, ‘Samu? Sunarin’s staying as far away as he can in case ya blow the kitchen up.”

“Shaddap. He’s all the way there so the camera can see everythin’,” Osamu retorts. “‘Sides, between us, yer the one more likely to blow the kitchen up.”

“If you think like that, then why d’ya bother wakin’ me up?”

“I’m the one who’s gonna mostly make it, but I need some extra hands, and there’s no way I’m lettin’ ya get away with just eatin’.” He shakes his head. “No wonder I got more followers. No one likes a guy who can’t cook.”

Atsumu rolls up his sleeves threateningly. “Ah? You take that back, ‘Samu! I’ll show ya how good of a cook I can be!”

“Yer the assistant here, dimwit.”

Suna takes another spoonful of his cereal and thinks that this is going to be a very long morning. 

The problem is, Atsumu sucks so bad at doing even the most basic task of mixing ingredients that Osamu keeps on shoving him aside to fix the mess. Eventually, he gives up on trying to make Atsumu do any sort of work because he’s so useless that Osamu literally orders him to stand in the corner of the room and sulk. Naturally, Atsumu throws a fit, and in Suna’s camera is a good seventeen minutes of footage wasted on seeing them squabble. In the background, the sound of Suna casually munching on his second bowl of cereal can be distantly heard.

The only thing Atsumu is really good at is fetching the appropriate utensils, plates, and bowls because this _is_ his house, so the majority of the frame shows Osamu as a constant, almost still presence, only moving to a couple of places every few minutes and never really changing posture, all while Atsumu personifies a disastrous yellow hurricane. 

Suna can probably compile a montage of all the different areas in the kitchen Atsumu has decided to occupy while waiting for Osamu to tell him what to get within the shot. Atsumu sits on the countertop right beside the sink, playing on his phone. Then Atsumu sits in the walk space between the window countertop and the middle one, his mustard-like hair peeking out. At some point, Atsumu leans half his body forward to get a better glimpse of what Osamu is mixing right in the center of the frame until Osamu literally whacks him in the head with a rolling pin procured out of nowhere. After that, Atsumu sulks against the wall, barely making it to the shot. 

It’s not like Suna himself is an immovable force, since he ends up entering the frame a few times to capture what Osamu is doing close-up, but it’s not at the same level as Atsumu, and Suna’s focused footage is what’s supposed to make it to the final cut, not Suna himself. But Atsumu’s natural restlessness only really hits Suna when the setter is right beside him, hovering his fingers right in front of the lens to try and pretend like he’s squashing his brother’s shrunken head. 

“I will kill you,” Suna threatens. “If I see even the faintest of smudges on my lens.”

Atsumu pulls away and complains about Suna being such a prissy asshole in the morning. 

Being docile isn’t like Atsumu, especially when it comes to his brother, so there’s a lot of accompanied grumbles and complaints whenever Osamu asks for something from the blonde, but he still gets it anyway and dutifully hands it to Osamu. Suna regrets giving Atsumu a microphone, but at least Osamu easily talks over his brother as he continues explaining the process of making macarons. Atsumu’s inputs and questions that occasionally come to the light aren’t a bad add-on anyway, seeing as Suna isn’t in the mood to be the best conversationalist and it’s not his job to be in the first place. 

It takes them a total of three hours before the macarons are finished and out of the oven, freshly baked, its aroma wafting around the entire house. Osamu also bakes around fifty, and even though the twins have pretty big appetites, there’s no way they can eat all of this without vomiting their brains out. They end up deciding to take it to the team tomorrow at practice to get rid of it all, but not before Atsumu takes dibs on around ten of them and is already munching on two as the twins pull bar stools and sit right in the center of the frame, trying to wrap up everything by recalling the other two types of macarons they tasted and which one was the best. 

“‘Samu, this is better than I thought, but I don’t think it’s worth it,” Atsumu states whilst chewing. “Momma spent a lot on gettin’ all these ingredients. And we still have’ta clean up!”

“What d’ya mean, ‘better than I thought’? ‘Course this was gonna be good, I don’t half-ass shit like this.” Osamu scowls. “And makin’ ‘em from scratch is probably just as worth it as that imported-made macaron we ate yesterday.”

“It was good though,” Atsumu comments, almost wistfully. “It was like, wispy? But it also really made me feel real full.”

“Wow, ‘Tsumu. Those are really poetic words.”

“Fuck off!” Atsumu probably kicks Osamu under the table, because Osamu winces. “Anyways, that’s what I think is the real winner.”

“Is it worth it at its price?”

Atsumu shrugs. “If yer rich enough.”

Osamu sighs like he gives up on his brother. “I’ll pick the hundred yen macaron shop.”

“Even though ya spent the entire time bashing it yesterday?”

“I was bein’ honest. ‘Sides, I never said it was _bad,_ ” Osamu protests. “I could see some people who’d be into it.”

“I guess that shop is the place for high school kids. Makes sense that Sunarin was so into it,” Atsumu allows. He glances past the camera. “What’s the verdict, cameraman?”

Unfortunately, Suna is barely listening to the twins’ banter, more engrossed in breaking the macaron Osamu had given him into small portions to savor the taste as if there hadn’t been a plethora he could still get. They’re caramel flavored. Suna watched the entire process and still has no idea how Osamu managed to make it taste like this. 

So he doesn’t think to make a retort about what Atsumu just called him, and ends up saying, as he’s breaking off another piece of the pastry, “This is good.” 

Silence. Then Osamu’s smug face turns crystal clear under the camera lens. “Guess that means he likes mine best. I win.”

“It was literally a three-way! You didn’t win shit, ‘Samu!”

“Yer cleanin’ up, by the way.”

“Since when? We didn’t agree on any of this, jerk!”

Suna wipes off the macaron crumbs on the plate with a finger and licks it clean. 

* * *

Though Suna initially planned on leaving the moment they were done filming, he ends up staying until lunch because Osamu whips up this nice microwavable egg custard for all of them that tastes better than the almost lazy way it was made. Atsumu ends up cleaning the dishes because he fucked up in trying to make his own, so Osamu pushed him aside to make a new batch for his brother. 

As Suna scrapes the edges of the cup to get the last bit of egg custard, he looks up to catch Osamu smiling at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Osamu says, and isn’t that cryptic. “You want the recipe? I think yer dad will like it.”

He’s right. Suna’s dad has always liked eggs. But Suna doesn’t make it a habit to talk about his dad, and if he ever mentioned anything about him, it would’ve been once and offhandedly. Besides, Osamu hasn’t even seen his father, not even during Parent Assemblies. Why the hell does he remember that little anecdote about someone he’s never even met?

Suna isn’t going to dwell on it. He’s not, because then he will be touched, and then get flustered because the other seems to be paying close attention to him—even if it’s probably not that deep—and Osamu is sitting right across him, and he’ll see his reaction in perfect detail. As much as Suna really likes Osamu’s eyes, he also really, _really_ hates its ability to catch onto things really quickly. 

“Sure,” he manages to say. Osamu smiles at him again. 

“‘Samu, I want one more.”

Immediately, Osamu’s expression darkens as he turns to his brother. He pokes him harshly at his side. “Learn how to make yer own. And finish cleanin’ the dishes, will ya? Momma’s gonna kill us if this place ain’t spotless when she gets home.” 

To at least try to ease the burden off Atsumu’s shoulders, Suna cleans his own plate while Osamu scrawls down the recipe for him in a piece of paper. Right after he finishes, his phone abruptly vibrates in his pocket. When he checks, it’s a message from his dad. 

**Suna Tatsuya** : _Are you staying for dinner? I’ll order delivery._

Suna texts back, _Old man, you didn’t go to work today?_

 **Suna Tatsuya:** _Took a day-off. You can stay at your ‘friend’s’ as long as you want though. No curfew tonight._

‘Friend’. Suna hates him. 

**You** : _That’s a first. Is there a special occasion?_

 **Suna Tatsuya:** _Not if you don’t remember. It’s not important anyway._

Suna frowns. That’s a sketchy way of saying things, but his dad doesn’t seem like he’s lying. 

**Suna Tatsuya:** _And shouldn’t I be asking you that? I haven’t seen you bring that camera out of the house in years._

 **You:** _My friend needed it._

 **Suna Tatsuya:** _Ah, your ‘friend’. When are you going to bring him over?_

 **You:** _It’s not like that._

“Why ya grinnin’ like that, huh?” Atsumu suddenly says from behind him, and Suna nearly jumps in surprise. Instead, he quickly covers his phone’s screen with his hand. 

“It’s nothing,” Suna replies evenly. Atsumu narrows his eyes, clearly doubting him, but Suna isn’t going to budge. “I’ll import the rest of today’s videos in our online drive, Osamu. I’m going home.”

“You share a drive with that bastard?”

“We’re classmates,” Suna points out mildly. 

Osamu frowns at him. “Why can’t ya do it here? Yer dad wants you back home?”

It seems to be the opposite, actually, even though Suna can’t really figure out why. He could say that he’s going to do homework, but then Osamu will insist that he can do it here with them, even though that’s counterproductive since they’ve never been known to actually get anything done. “Something like that.” 

“Damn, Sunarin, yer gonna make my brother mopey,” Atsumu remarks, which puzzles Suna. 

“What?”

Before Atsumu can explain though, Osamu immediately comes over to slap his brother on the back. Atsumu chokes on air. “Shaddap. If I’m mopey, it’s ‘cause I’m stuck with yer ugly mug for the rest of the day.”

“Like ya haven’t already been doin’ so since you were born!” 

“This is exactly why Momma thinks I’m the better twin.”

“I never heard her say that!”

Suna unlocks his phone. He’s about to click onto his message app to text his dad, but he accidentally presses the calendar right beside it instead. He doesn’t typically keep any reminders here, but there’s a highlighted text under today’s date. It’s not even words, but three heart emojis. 

Suddenly, Suna remembers. 

He pockets his phone and walks past the two bickering siblings. “If you kill each other, I would’ve wasted all my time and storage for nothing.” 

“Yer so sweet, Sunarin. That’s real friendship for ya.” 

“Definitely,” Suna agrees flatly, grabbing his camera bag and making his way to the door. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

The rest of the day passes by rather uneventfully. His dad is in the living room when Suna gets home, sitting on the couch and looking engrossed in whatever’s playing on the television, but it’s obvious he’d been waiting for his son. Suna doesn’t say a word; he just sits at the foot of the couch and opens his laptop and camera, immediately working on the imports. After he’s finished, they walk upstairs to the altar in the master bedroom and say their prayers. His dad isn’t that hungry and the paper containing the egg custard recipe written in Osamu’s handwriting is tucked in his pocket, so he makes that instead for his dad while he makes cup noodles for himself. 

“This is good,” his father comments later. “Do you think I can make it?”

Suna’s dad can’t cook for shit, but he isn’t likely to set anything on fire when he’s just using the microwave. “You’ve got a better shot than Atsumu.” 

“Ah, so the other one is the one you like,” he notes, and Suna nearly spits out the noodles he’d been slurping. “The one who can cook. You took after me in that sense. We have a type.”

Is he insinuating that Osamu is like his mom? This is embarrassing. Maybe he should’ve stayed over at the Miya's. “I’m not talking about this with you. I’m finishing this in my room.”

His dad just laughs. Suna smiles. 

After dinner, Suna lies down on his bed and sets the ball into the air repeatedly for a good thirty minutes before deciding he might as well start on homework. Setting the ball makes him think of Atsumu, after all, and thinking of Atsumu makes him think of Osamu. 

He starts on his Literature homework because that one takes the most time. Reading is boring though, and halfway through the seventh page, his phone begins buzzing with notifications, and Suna eventually gives up on having any sense of self-control and goes to check it. It’s a bunch of messages from Osamu. 

**Osamu** : _'Tarou_

 **Osamu:** _'Tarou_

 **Osamu** : _'Tarou_

 **Osamu** : _No wonder you were president of yer middle school film club._

 **You** : _What does that mean?_

 **Osamu** : _The framing’s good. The close-up shots are wicked too._

 **You** : _Thanks. There’s still a lot of stuff you’ll have to edit out though. You’ll probably be up all night._

 **Osamu:** _Not like I ain’t up all night as it is. ‘Tsumu’s so damn loud ‘bout his video games. I hate sharin’ a room with this guy. ‘Sides, I want this uploaded tomorrow night if I can._

 **You:** _I think I block the frame at some point. You’ll have to remove that for the final version._

 **Osamu:** _Don’t worry. I will. I’m already in ‘Tsumu’s macaron shop for the video. Halfway through._

 **You:** _You work fast._

 **Osamu:** _I still gotta polish everythin’ up and make an introduction to what we’re doin’, but just puttin’ in some texts seems kinda pathetic. I was thinkin’ voice-overs. I got the mic for it anyway._

Suna grabs his equipment bag from beside his bed and looks inside. 

**You:** _Isn’t that mine?_

 **Osamu:** _Don’t hope on gettin’ ‘em back. We’ll be using ‘em for the other videos and I can bet ya that ‘Tsumu’s gonna destroy it one way or ‘nother._

 **You** : _Are we really continuing this?_

 **Osamu:** _If the reception’s good, yeah. ‘Tsumu still has a couple more offers and we got the time._

 **You:** _Speak for yourself._

 **Osamu:** _Do ya think I’d speak for ya? I don’t even know yer language._

 **You** : _Shut up. Don’t quote The Breakfast Club._

 **Osamu:** _Aran-kun would cry if he heard ya say that. He loves that movie. Why ya gotta be so heartless, 'Tarou?_

 **You** : _It’s not even funny._

 **Osamu** : _Dunno why I’m surprised when yer sense of humor is just “Here’s Johnny”._

 **You** : _Hey, it made Kita-san laugh. That’s more than enough._ _If I don’t have a sense of humor, it’s because you robbed me of it. I spend too much time with you._

 **Osamu:** _Well, can’t say I’m complainin’._

Suna smiles and then ducks his head, shy at the open display of emotion, even though it’s not like Osamu can see him. He hates this guy. Suna grabs his camera that sits on the bedside table and starts skimming through the gallery. 

**Osamu** : _I know I already said it, but yer shots are fuckin’ amazing. I got a lot to work with ‘cause of ya. Ever considered becomin’ a cinematographer or some shit when yer older?_

Suna is watching the last video he took today and how he unintentionally said that Osamu’s macaron was the best out of all they’ve eaten. It isn’t a lie, but the blatant honesty hadn’t been intentional, only happening because Suna had been preoccupied. He’d be a lot more embarrassed about it if not for the fact that he’s zoomed in on the look of Osamu’s face when he said it—smug and proud, sure, but also warm. Sometimes Suna thinks Osamu has an actor's face, to be able to convey that much complex emotions all at once that are easily recognizable, but also so sincere at the same time. 

**You:** _I thought about it, but you need credentials to get somewhere, and I don’t think I’m going to university._

 **Osamu** : _Why not?_

 **You** : _University’s expensive and I want my dad to retire early._

 **Osamu:** _Yer dad’s a railroad engineer, right?_

 **You:** _Yup. But I’m not really keen on following in his footsteps. I don’t really understand what he’s doing when he tries explaining it to me._

 **Osamu** : _Where’d the photography interest come from?_

 **You:** _My mom. She was a chef though. The camera’s secondhand. It was a gift from her sister. She’s the one who actually did something with the photography, so she had a lot of extras she didn’t want._

 **Osamu** : _Damn, a chef? What happened to ya?_

 **You** ** _:_ ** _We aren’t all like you, Osamu. And I can do the basics. I’m not interested enough in culinary to pursue it anyway. Maybe I’ll go for something volleyball-related._

 **Osamu** : _Goin’ pro? Yer just like ‘Tsumu._

 **You** : _Atsumu is bound to get scouted. It’s fifty-fifty for me._

 **Osamu:** _Can’t argue with that, but ya underestimate yerself, Suna._

 **You:** _You too though. You’ll probably get recruited after Interhigh._

 **Osamu:** _Probably._

 **You:** _What a boring reaction._

 **Osamu** : _Shaddap. Volleyball ain’t everythin’ for me like it is for ‘Tsumu._

 **You:** _I know. You told me about it during the lecture on career paths in Homeroom. Food business, right? Does Atsumu know about it?_

 **Osamu** : _‘S not like I’ve been hidin’ the possibility. That’s why I wanna do this food vlog thing. But ‘Tsumu doesn’t think I’m serious ‘bout it, so don’t tell him, ‘cause we keep on arguin’ ‘bout it and it ain’t nice. Nothin’ is for sure anyway._

 **You:** _I won’t._

It feels awkward to just end things there. 

**You:** _There’s no way I’m willingly getting involved in any of your quarrels anyway._

 **Osamu** : _Shaddap_. _We’re quality entertainment._

For some reason, Suna imagines Osamu smiling as he types the reply. And Suna can’t actually argue with that statement, even if Atsumu and Osamu also cause him giant headaches. 

**Osamu** : _You were kinda in a hurry earlier when ya left. Did anythin’ happen with yer dad?_

Suna takes a few seconds before he replies. 

**You** : _No. Don’t worry about it._

 **Osamu** : _Alright._

It’s one of the things Suna likes about Osamu, his capability to easily drop topics despite whatever curiosity he might have. He won’t push, but he doesn’t make Suna feel hesitant to open up. If this were about anything else, Suna would tell him. But he doesn’t, because he really doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal to talk about it. 

**You** : _It’s almost midnight. I’m going to turn in for the night._

 **Osamu** : _Sure. I’ll see ya tomorrow, 'Tarou._

Suna tucks his readings on the bedside drawer and shuts the lights, but keeps the camera on the bed, holding it up as he lies down on his pillows. He’s not actually that sleepy, so he might just watch a couple more of the videos he took of the twins to fall asleep. 

Beside him, his phone buzzes one last time. 

**Osamu** : _Happy anniversary to yer parents, by the way. Hope yer dad liked the egg custard._

Suna doesn’t reply anymore, but he thinks, _yes, he did._ He’s pretty sure his mother would’ve liked it too. 

* * *

The volleyball team is ecstatic to find Osamu carrying a box full of caramel macarons, and they immediately dig into it once practice has officially been declared over and they’ve mostly cleaned up. 

“This is good,” Akagi comments. “But y’know, this would taste way better if we had milk to go with it.”

The rest of them agree. After a nasty round of rock-paper-scissors, Suna, Atsumu, and Gin are temporarily kicked out of the clubroom and aren’t allowed back in until they return with the milk cartons they sell at the vending machines. Suna doesn’t really have much complaints, considering that he’s already starting to get sick of macarons and the more distance he puts between them, the better. Atsumu seems to have the same train of thought, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t going to whine about having to run on the errand anyway. 

“What brought this about anyway?” asks Gin as they make their way towards the vending machines, which are in between the gym and staff room. “Not that I’m complainin’, but it’s not every day Osamu comes to practice with freshly baked goods for us to have with wantin’ nothin’ in return.”

“The twins are doing a video log,” Suna explains, because he knows that Atsumu is going to launch into a longer-winded backstory that won’t really make sense to Gin. 

“Vlog, Suna,” Gin inputs. 

Suna just makes a face. “Right.” There’s no way he’s voluntarily saying that slang aloud. “But it’s about food. Something to do with businesses wanting to promote their products through Atsumu and Osamu wanting to launch his food business career.”

“Hey, that’s not a sure thing yet, ‘kay!” Atsumu bursts. “‘Samu’s a complete shithead, but he and I are gonna be pros together and I’ll kick his ass on the court when we’re part of rival teams!”

Gin and Suna share a glance and say nothing. They’re not going to get into this argument with Atsumu today. Or ever. Besides, Suna hasn’t forgotten what Osamu was telling him about last night. 

They reach the vending machines soon enough but realize that carrying so much all the way back to the clubroom is too much work, so Gin proposes that they drink their share here before heading back. Since the members had given them a bit more money than needed, they end up using the extra yen to buy the slightly pricier beverages for themselves and decide to not return immediately until they finish their drinks. The clubroom is kind of stuffy, after all, and they want to make the most out of the fresh air around them, even if summer heat is anything but kind. 

Gin and Suna lean against the wall as Atsumu paces back and forth, yapping about a number of things until Suna eventually gets tired of standing and ends up squatting instead, lazily sipping his juice from the straw. He doesn’t want anything sweet right now, so he got the sour flavor, the kind that made Gin and Atsumu make pinched expressions when they saw him purchase it. 

“Y’know, I thought the vlog thing was a good idea ‘till I realized how much fuckin’ third-wheelin’ I’ve been doin’.”

Gin raises an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t Suna be the one sayin’ that? He’s the one who got caught up in yer idea.” 

“You'd think that,” Atsumu begins. “But you should look at the both of ‘em, makin’ all heart eyes at each other when ‘Samu feeds him and when Sunarin compliments his food. He didn’t even wanna do this ‘till ‘Samu convinced him! Even now, that jerk won’t tell me what he did to get Sunarin to say yes!”

 _He wall-slammed me._ Suna thinks, except is that really the answer? He doesn’t know if Osamu saw it like that. Because if he did, Suna would be screwed. 

“Plus, they were textin’ all night, and ‘Samu kept on smilin’ stupidly while he was editin’ the damn video. I’ve never seen ‘Samu text anyone for that long. I’m tellin’ ya, Gin, they were flirtin’ right in front of me!” 

Suna refuses to believe that. He and Osamu have countless nights where all they do is talk instead of sleep. Either Atsumu is exaggerating or he’s simply never noticed until now. Suna rolls his eyes. “Osamu just prefers my company to yours.”

“I’m great company, s‘cuse ya! And he’s my brother! If anythin’, it’s ‘Samu who’s the shitty one. You have terrible taste, Sunarin.”

“Atsumu, y’know that doesn’t really mean shit considerin’ you’ve been usin’ video games to talk to your crush who you don’t even actually know,” Gin points out. 

“Shaddap, Gin! You promised ya wouldn’t tell anyone!”

They end up launching into an argument about Atsumu’s mysterious crush on this guy he met online and has been playing video games with for the past few months. Atsumu apparently doesn’t know anything about him besides three facts—that he plays volleyball, is also a fellow second-year, and apparently sucks at video games but is determined to improve. 

Atsumu’s virtual love story is funny to know about, sure, but more than anything, Suna is just relieved they’ve dropped the topic of him and Osamu. Luckily, Gin didn’t seem to take whatever Atsumu was saying seriously, but it would only be a matter of time before he did. Suna couldn’t afford that, even if Atsumu is only _half_ -right about his claims. Suna hopes Atsumu will just forget about it entirely, but on the off-chance he doesn’t, he’ll have to find a way to convince him that it’s all in his head and Atsumu is just imagining it. 

After all, no one is supposed to know about his crush on Osamu. His _dad_ wasn’t even supposed to know; Suna doesn’t even remember how he figured it out. 

“At the rate you’re goin’, I bet Osamu will score a date before you,” Gin tells Atsumu. “He can make anyone fall for him with those cookin’ skills of his.”

“And so?” Atsumu scoffs. “I got plenty of other skills he doesn’t have.”

“All you have is volleyball.”

“That’s all I need!”

“It’s not like you can eat volleyball. And women like a man who can provide in more ways than one. A man who can take care of ‘em, ya feel? I bet Osamu’s future wife is gonna be a happy woman.” 

Suna does not like this comment. He doesn’t like this entire _conversation_ , actually, but he hopes the face he makes goes unnoticed by the other two. “I'm kinda surprised he isn't obnoxiously popular yet," Gin remarks. 

"'Course not," Atsumu argues. "The only person who's into that idiot is Sunarin."

Suna’s eyes widen. 

Gin goes quiet, though his eyebrows are raised so high they disappear into his hair. Atsumu doesn’t say anything more, but he doesn’t seem to notice the awkward silence he brought about either. Suna wishes they were back in the gym so he could spike a ball to the setter’s face and make him lose his memories. 

Instead, he settles for throwing his empty juice box right at Atsumu. It lands squarely on his head. “Hey!”

“Atsumu, you fucking bastard.” Suna stands up and marches over to the Atsumu. He grabs the older by the collar and starts shaking him because he still has enough self-control to not wring Atsumu’s neck. Yet. “I swear to fucking god—after this, I am never doing a single thing for you again. Every time you realize there’s something you want to achieve, you’ll fail, because I’ll be one step ahead and snatch it away. I’ll make you spend the rest of your stupid life chasing something that isn’t waiting for you anymore.”

“What the fuck, Sunarin? What’s with all this details, huh? Are ya cursing’ me? What happened to yer cool and mysterious character? Yer not s'pposed to be this talkative! Yer ruinin' the narrative! Yer goin’ off-script!”

Suna’s eyebrows knit together. “What narrative? What script? Get your head out of your ass so I can strangle you.” 

Gin ignores them both. “I mean,” he starts thoughtfully. “I wish I could say I was surprised, but it kinda makes sense.”

Suna doesn’t let go of his tight grip on Atsumu, but he does stop shaking him to turn to Gin. Atsumu looks like he’s already passed out from dizziness. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Suna, this vlog thing you’re doin’ sounds tedious. You don’t benefit from it, but you agreed anyway, and it was ‘cause of Osamu.” 

Gin has a point, but. “That doesn’t mean anything but the fact that Osamu is nicer than Atsumu. You know this.”

“You’re right,” he agrees, and they both ignore Atsumu’s offended squawk. “But also, Osamu posted your vlog this mornin’.”

Suna lets Atsumu go. “So you were just pretending to not know what was going on?”

“No,” Gin objects. “I just wanted to see if you’d pretend to not have anythin’ to do with it ‘cause you hate gettin’ involved with the two of ‘em. And I watched it during break time. I thought you knew,” he explains. “But I gotta admit, there was nothin’ straight ‘bout the way Osamu was feedin’ you in that hundred yen macaron shop of yours. Imagine if we actually got footage of it.”

“I have it,” Atsumu pipes up. “I’ll send it to ya later, Gin.”

“Miya Atsumu, I will kill you.” 

“Sunarin, why’re ya so violent? I bet it’s ‘cause ya got a crush on my stupid brother. This is exactly why I said yer tastes are terrible.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Gin cuts in another round of Suna trying to choke Atsumu. _“Yer just like aceomi10, Sunarin! So goddamn mean!”_ Atsumu whines, except Suna doesn’t know who the fuck that is and what that means. “Oh god. This is perfect. Suna, I gotta know—do you find Atsumu attractive? They got the same face, after all.”

At that, Suna and Atsumu stop fighting. They slowly turn to Gin, then to each other, and Atsumu says, “Well?” and then he wags his eyebrows obnoxiously. 

They talked about this once, back when they were first-years and still getting to know each other. If a girl ever confessed to Atsumu, did that mean she could have a crush on Osamu? If someone complimented Osamu on his good looks, aren't they also, by extension, complimenting Atsumu? Suna was already kind of harboring something for Osamu that early on, so he had more than enough time to mull over it. 

“No,” Suna answers Gin immediately. “Osamu’s eyes are nicer to look at. They’re cloudier.”

“What the hell’s so fuckin’ attractive ‘bout that?”

“Also, Atsumu looks dumber.”

_“What d’ya just say?”_

Gin nods. “I see. I mean, I don’t, ‘cause I ain’t the one crushin’ on Osamu, but I agree that Atsumu looks dumber.”

“Sunarin! Gin! Why ya gotta be so mean?”

Suna gives Atsumu a deadpan look. “Also, do that thing with your eyebrows one more time and I’ll tell Osamu to shave them off while you sleep.”

Atsumu gasps and quickly covers his eyebrows with his hands. “Don’t you dare! I’d look hideous! _Aceomi10_ is never gonna like me back!” 

“‘Tsumu, why’re ya still talkin’ ‘bout that poor s’cuse of a gamer ya keep on playin’ with and got a crush on? Yer embarrassin’,” A familiar voice says, and Suna pushes Atsumu away to turn to Osamu, who is walking to them with a perplexed look on his face. “Do I even wanna know what you were doin’?”

“Gettin’ milk?”

“Yer hands are empty. Ya haven’t gotten shit,” Osamu says, before sighing. “The rest of ‘em are wonderin’ if all of you took the money and scrammed.”

“We wouldn’t do that.” 

“ _We_ wouldn’t. Atsumu would.”

“Y'know, Sunarin, ya must’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning to be so pissy,” Atsumu remarks. “Or do ya wish you woke up in the bed of—”

Gin quickly grabs Atsumu and covers his mouth, smiling tightly. “Man, y’know how much I love ya, Atsumu, but sometimes I wish I could duct tape yer mouth.”

“Hah?” They manage to hear Atsumu cry out, despite the muffling. 

“Yeah. It’s nice that there’s someone you like other than yourself, but it’s getting kind of old to hear the same thing from you over and over again since you haven’t made any progress besides bragging about becoming friends with a guy who goes by _aceomi10_ to your _real-life_ friends,” Suna says rather pointedly, giving Atsumu a telling look to keep quiet. The latter just blinks at him, looking lost. Then he winces when Suna digs his heel on his foot. 

Osamu has an eyebrow raised at the scene, fortunately not seeming to have heard his brother’s comment. Then he shakes his head. “I don’t wanna know,” he says. “Just get the milk already before Kita-san gets back from his meetin’ with Coach. Otherwise the members are gonna tell him and yer all gonna be in trouble.” 

He gives Suna—just him, _why_ —an indecipherable look before turning on his heel and walking away. 

When they’re all sure Osamu is out of earshot, Gin and Suna let Atsumu go. “I know you hate your brother, so don’t say anything to him about this,” Suna immediately tells him sternly. “He can’t know.

Atsumu wipes his mouth and stands up. “Fine.” 

Suna turns to Gin, who is already clicking at the vending machine to get the team’s milk cartons. “Should I trust him?”

Gin doesn’t even spare them a glance. He's looking down at the clinking sound of the drink falling to the pickup slot before fishing out more coins and putting in the right amount to get another one. “Well, I don’t recommend killin’ him, since we need him for Interhigh, so you gotta cross your fingers and hope for the best,” he replies. Then he grumbles, mostly to himself, “They’re lucky this school has three vending machines. We’re probably goin’ to get their entire supply.”

“I’ll keep it a secret, sure,” Atsumu promises Suna. “But, Sunarin, yer a real pussy.” 

Suna just gives him a sour look. “Tell that to me _after_ you’ve gotten an actual name from _aceomi10_.”

“Yer both bastards, you and ‘Samu,” huffs Atsumu. Suna ignores him and walks towards Gin to help him get the milk cartons for their teammates.

“It’s okay, Suna,” Gin tells him, after Suna lets out a loud groan. “Yer secret’s safe with us.”

“Thanks.” 

Gin grins and then pats Suna on the back. “If it’s any consolation, at least ya fell for the better twin.”

“I can hear this conversation, y'know!”

* * *

Suna checks the video the moment he gets home. Osamu apparently has a Twitter account with _two_ million followers, and the tweet with the video link has more than thirty thousand likes and ten thousand retweets. The video itself already has a million views, and Suna thinks it’ll only continue to increase from there. 

The fact that Osamu is inherently popular and has a large online presence for some reason aside, Suna can see why the video has gained this much views even from people who aren’t fans of the twins. The transitions are clear and professionally done, almost like they weren’t formatted and arranged by a second-year high schooler. Atsumu and Osamu are also fun to watch, especially to outsiders who don’t deal with them on a day-to-day basis, even if they do get exasperating most of the time. Suna can hear his video-self’s comments and replies to the twins every now and then, but he doesn’t actually appear in the video, much to his relief. If he does, it’s only because he’s trying to get close-ups shots of the macarons and the twins’ expressions as they dig in. But Suna’s back is turned to the camera the entire time, and he knows that Osamu did his best to cut out all the other unnecessary scenes where Suna is in the frame, so he can deal with the embarrassment of seeing himself in a video shared to the world.

Suddenly, he remembers Gin’s words and rewinds the playback to the part where the three of them are in the first store. He doesn’t understand why Gin had said what he said when it doesn’t look anything out of the ordinary and Osamu calling him by his first name hadn’t been caught in the audio. The scene doesn’t look nor sound "homoerotic" in the slightest, but Suna hasn’t forgotten anything about that day and that moment, and his face turns red when he thinks of what Gin said and puts it into context from _his_ point of view. 

He covers his face with his hands. He can’t forget the way Osamu looked, the way his fingers hovered close to his mouth to try and feed him. 

Imagine if they touched, imagine if Osamu leaned any closer and Suna hadn’t been that careful when he took a bite off the macaron. Suna _definitely_ would have dropped the camera. 

Suna ends up texting Osamu before he even realizes it. _Didn’t know I was friends with such a hotshot._

There isn’t any context, but Suna doesn’t need to put any. Osamu answers within a minute.

 **Osamu** : _Don’t read the comments._

Suna will easily see them if he scrolls down. Telling him to not do so only makes him want to do it all the more. 

**You** : _Why?_

 **Osamu** : _The internet is like ‘Tsumu. Mean and lies a lot. Takes things out of context._

 **Osamu** : _Also, ya might not wanna do another video with us if ya see ‘em. And we definitely need ya to record._

 **Osamu** : _I’ll give ya the remainin’ macarons if ya don’t do it._

Frankly, Suna is kind of sick of macarons as a whole, but he isn’t about to tell Osamu that. 

**You** : _Tempting, but you wouldn’t even know if I did it or not._

 **Osamu** : _I believe in yer word._

 **You** : _I never thought I’d hear that from someone who is siblings with Miya Atsumu._

 **Osamu** : _Yer right, but I’m ain’t tellin’ this to him, am I? I’m tellin’ it to ya._

 **Osamu:** _Yer also probably the only person I’d ever say this too._

Suna would think this would be what people call _leading on_ , except he knows Osamu better than most and knows that Osamu is always sincere about his words, even if they get Suna’s hopes up sometimes and he ends up hurt in the process. It’s what makes having this crush harder— believing you’re someone important in his eyes and knowing you still don’t have a chance. 

Instead of replying, Suna tosses his phone to the side. He hates the light bubbly feeling in his chest that he knows only lovesick ignorant fools get, and he hates Miya Osamu for being the cause. 

It’s not a bad thing though, and he knows this. It’s not a bad thing, because it’s just what love is, and love is never bad. It just feels good, and it just hurts, and it just hurts in a good way, and that’s—that's okay. Suna will live. 

* * *

He keeps his promise of not checking the comments. It’s partly for Osamu, but also because he genuinely doesn’t want to know what strangers think of him, because the point of his role as the cameraman is that he’s supposed to be a nobody and be easily overlooked by others. The fact that Osamu didn’t want Suna to read them meant that he was talked about despite wanting to go unnoticed, and Suna isn’t keen on finding out what strangers have to say about him. When it comes to volleyball, it’s fine, because it’s something he’s confident in and he _wants_ to be seen, but not for this. This isn’t his time to shine and stand out. 

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter, because Atsumu corners him the next day after practice to show him the comments without any chance of escape. Osamu is talking about something with Kita, and the rest of the members who have enough guts to reel Atsumu in are nowhere in sight. 

“Yer gonna see ‘em eventually,” Atsumu reasons, filtering out the comments so Suna can only see specific ones. “Might as well do it now.”

  
  


**Worth It Ep. 01: Macarons**   
_by Miya Osamu_

2,945,166 views

 **Description** : [Worth It Ep. 01: Macarons] The Miya twins try macarons with drastically different prices from two different stores before making their own homemade version to see which is the most worth it at its price. This is the first episode of a summer-long web show created by Miya Atsumu, Miya Osamu, and Suna Rintarou. For the macaron recipe in this video, click here. For the creators’ social media, Osamu’s is here, and Atsumu’s is here. If you enjoyed it, hit the like button and subscribe to this channel for more content! 

**COMMENTS** :

 **Are Hikari** :  
This video was amazing. Are we sure this was made by a bunch of high school kids?

 **womcadloe** :  
Look at that camerawork! All those shots and angles used! The editing was superb, of course, but there’s no point in having good editing skills if you don’t have good content to utilize. 

**cavetoones** :  
I know everyone’s talking about the twins, but I’m here to ask: who the heck is their cameraman? His face didn’t appear at all but I heard him speak and he sounded cute :((( Plus he filmed the twins pretty well! 

> **Tobe** :  
> Suna Rintarou! He doesn’t have any social media but he appears a lot in the Miya twins’ posts. He also goes to Inarizaki. I’m guessing a classmate of theirs?
> 
> **Marumaru** :  
> He’s part of the Inarizaki volleyball team with the Miya twins. Middle blocker. In his first year, he was already a starting member. Saw him in last year’s Nationals. He’s one of their main point-getters. Cool as fuck. Didn’t know he could do photography too though. 
> 
> **Go Mizaki** :  
> Volleyball? I know the twins play but I only really followed them and became a fan because they're really funny and pretty hot ::sweats nervously::

**To The Top** :  
Suna-san pls show ur face :”””) petition for the next Worth It video to actually feature him eating pls @Miya Osamu @Miya Atsumu

> **Hideyoshi Akari** :  
> Please! The twins are comedy monsters, but those comments that Suna guy was making were also pretty hilarious

**Shin Mei** :  
I’ve been seeing a number of comments wondering about Suna Rintarou, so to those who aren’t volleyball fanatics and don’t know of the notoriety of the team all three of them are part of, here’s a couple of photos as to what he looks like! It’s from the school’s official website, though there are others that come from sports websites.  
 _[link attached]_

_(7.9k likes)_

> ***chefs kiss*** :  
> He’s so cute what the heCK dfjdlkj does he have a girlfriend?
> 
> **Otomehime:** **  
> **theres no way u cant be single when u look like THAT … the twins too … i bet they’re all taken TT_____TT
> 
> **runningfromfoxes** :  
> He looks like my crush ^0^
> 
> **Kiyoko Mayumi** :  
> I kinda want him to be my bf now. Bet he’d be the quiet but caring type. The twins are fun and all but I kinda prefer someone who knows when to calm down and he looks like the level-headed one among them
> 
> **shoenarin** :  
> Those pics are good quality omgggg I ended up watching some Inarizaki clips posted online bc of this video and _god_ all three of them are monsters on the court. Suna is my favorite though. But I also wanna know what he’s like off-court ??? Like how the twins are in this video. ig we already got a glimpse of it now but it’d be nice if we could see him in something other than volleyball shorts and jerseys too. Like a regular high school boy
> 
> **Nemumomo** :  
> I bet he’d look real cute. @Miya Osamu @Miya Atsumu pls make this happen 

**BURNOUTBOY10** :  
tbh they probs didnt intend for this but this is solid promo for inarizaki as a whole and during nationals theyre probs gonna get twice as many spectators and fans this year

“Ya got yer own fanbase, Sunarin,” Atsumu tells him. “Aren’t ya grateful ya agreed to do this?”

“No,” Suna says lowly, but his cheeks are flushed. “Shut up.”

* * *

For the second episode, they do cake next. Osamu uses his Twitter to ask for recommendations on which relatively cheap cake place to go, and the one that gets mentioned the most is Pablo’s, so they go there. 

Suna has never heard of Pablo’s, but when they get to the branch in Himeji, the architecture alone blows him away and makes him question if this is really supposed to be their _first_ stop. The store has a tunnel-like design, with a sequence of intersectional curve lines placed at the ceiling area and plant life slotted in between. The walls and floor mimic bricks and wood to try and give a homier feeling to the atmosphere and has a guide path so that customers can see the entire process of the food being made. 

“Guys,” Atsumu says, staring at their surroundings in amazement. Suna wouldn’t normally agree with Atsumu on _anything_ , but he’s still trying to reel himself in from gaping at the interior. “When we win Nationals, let’s celebrate here.”

“If we win,” Suna corrects. Atsumu glares at him. 

“Have a ‘lil more confidence, won’t ya?”

“I got no complaints so long as yer treating,” Osamu responds. He doesn’t sound impressed, but Suna can see the sparkle in his eyes as he looks around. Without even thinking, he ends up zooming in on Osamu’s expression and then zooms out to film him looking through his phone to find the replies from his tweet. “I’m tryna remember what people were recommendin’.”

All the options look good, but they settle on the store’s signature cheese tart instead since it’s the product they’re renowned for. Watching the process is fascinating, even if Suna doesn’t really have much interest in food making, so while Atsumu waits by the tables for the food to come, he and Osamu stay by the counter area and watch the employees create their tart. It’s a bit hard for Suna to dedicate his full attention to the tart-making when every once in a while Osamu’s arm will brush against his, but the older doesn’t seem to notice, too captivated by the level of finesse the employees put in the craft to seemingly care about anything else. 

Suna thinks about how much he likes the look of wonder in Osamu’s eyes. He’d record that instead if he could. 

“Can ya believe this is less than 800 yen?” Osamu asks, when they’re presented with the finished product. It’s cute. The jam glaze only enhances the appeal of the food and the logo they stamp on the tart is a nice touch. 

“No."

“I think I wanna make a store like this someday,” Osamu tells him, as they make their way towards the table where Atsumu is. 

Suna immediately knows this conversation isn’t going to make it to the final cut lest Atsumu finds out about it, so he lowers his camera. “Interior-wise or product-wise?”

“Just the feel of it, I guess,” Osamu considers. “I wanna make people feel like they’re in another world when they’d enter my shop. Like the food is as good as the place yer eating it in. Like ya should tell yer friends to come over and celebrate here.” He glances at Suna. “If I ever do it, will ya be the first customer to come?”

Suna knows that even if Osamu asks, the person who will _really_ be his first customer is his brother, even if he can’t accept the fact that Osamu might choose a path that doesn’t involve volleyball and doesn’t involve standing by his side. But the inevitability of not being the first for something like this—something that’s important to Osamu—doesn’t hurt Suna as much as he thought it would, because family is important, no matter how hard you try to pretend like it isn’t. 

Besides, it doesn’t change the fact that Osamu still asked Suna, of all people, like Suna is important enough to be part of a hypothetical milestone in Osamu’s life. Whether or not it’ll actually happen doesn’t matter, because the thought, the intention, is still there, and it means a lot to Suna. 

“Don’t worry., says Suna. “I’ll probably be your first _employee_ if I still don’t know what to do by third year.” 

Osamu laughs. For a second, Suna regrets turning off the recording button, because it would’ve been nice to be able have a chance to hear this sound on loop, over and over. 

* * *

Much to Suna’s embarrassment, the twins—the both of them too; he can’t believe Osamu is teaming up with Atsumu for once—insist on filming him eating too in an attempt to cater to the viewers’ requests and show his face to the world. He makes a five-second cameo of eating a piece of the cheese tart slice Osamu cut for him because it’s just _that_ good, but puts his foot down for the chocolate cake that is 3000 yen. 

The fact that the chocolate cake is cheaper than Atsumu’s macaron is baffling. It really is a good thing they’re getting all these expensively-priced food for free. 

They finish filming for both locations mid-afternoon, a feat only accomplished by the fact that Atsumu insisted on going to Pablo’s during opening time so they can accomplish recording all the content needed for the second video by the end of the day so he can get back home and to his video games. 

“Just sayin’,” Osamu begins. “But gettin’ a headstart on those brainless games of yers ain’t gonna make _aceomi10_ love ya.”

“Gimme a break, won’t ya? I’m workin’ on it! We’re goin’ slow!”

“Yer in front of the computer all night. You ain’t goin’ _anywhere_ ”

They’re already back in their neighborhood. Summer usually has kids bustling about and running themselves ragged under the heat of the sun, but the streets are pretty desolate save for the three of them, and that’s how Suna knows they’re closer to where he lives than the Miya’s. 

Which isn’t supposed to be. Suna stops walking and frowns. “Aren’t we supposed to be going to your place?”

Osamu and Atsumu share a look, which is never a good sign. Suna can count the number of times they’ve done that on one hand, and he’s pretty sure they can also do the same. 

“You said ya needed to pick up yer extra camera battery,” Osamu says. 

“I did,” Suna slowly agrees. “But you don’t need to go with me to get it. I’ll see you at your house.”

“But, Sunarin, we’ve never been to yers,” Atsumu protests. “We’re kinda curious.” Osamu elbows him hard. “Fine. _I’m_ curious. Are ya hidin’ somethin’? Like some secret, long lost sister who’s involved in some money launderin’ scam so yer tryna hide her to stop her from gettin’ arrested?”

“‘Tsumu, what the hell have ya been watchin’ lately?” 

“He’s being sketchy, ‘Samu,” Atsumu points at Suna accusingly. “We’ve known this guy for more than a year and don’t know squat ‘bout what his house even looks like. Ain’t that kinda weird? There’s definitely somethin’ fishy goin’ on, and I wanna find out.”

Suna isn’t being sketchy and he’s not hiding anything as preposterous as whatever Atsumu is saying. What he’s actually hiding is the fact that he lives in a rented townhouse that’s as old as his dad that only barely manages to fit the two of them. And he knows it’s not something to really be embarrassed about, because he’d never judge someone if they were in a family of six and lived in a studio apartment. 

But Inarizaki students generally come from good, well-off families. The only people he knows are on scholarships are him and Kita, but despite Kita’s supposedly humble roots, his family owns more than one farm and he’s on the scholarship because he’s smart and hardworking enough to earn it; it’s not because he actually _needs_ it. 

The twins, especially—Suna wants nowhere near his home. He isn’t the type to compare, and the two are insensitive but not condescending, but there’s also no denying the fact that the Miya family is headed by infamous lawyers—it’s supposedly why Osamu and Atsumu are innately confident and snarky assholes—part of one of the highest-paying law firms in the country, and their house is thrice the size of Suna’s. Not to mention that they live on the richer, more expensive side of town. There’s a reason why Atsumu is relatively nonchalant and kind of ignorant to his expenditures, even if he’ll complain like any normal teenager about having no money. 

Suna has never let anyone come over to his house, and it’s definitely not because he’s ashamed of being poor, because in the first place, he _isn’t_. It’s just that there’s barely enough space to accommodate other people besides him and his dad, and he doesn’t want people to come over or stop by and notice how it’s lacking in some way—like how there aren’t enough plates, or not enough food, or not enough parents. 

And he doesn’t want others to think that of him. Most especially Osamu, who talks to him and treats Suna like he has as much to offer and give as Osamu does, like he’s _enough_. 

(The only person he’s ever been enough for is his dad, and that’s only because the only thing his dad could want more is his mom, who isn’t here anymore.) 

Suna must have been quiet for too long, because when he opens his mouth to reply, Osamu cuts in. “The only thing fishy that’s been goin’ on ‘round here is yer sorry s’cuse for a crush, 'Tsumu. I bet he’s not even real.” 

Atsumu gapes at him, like his brother had just said that his best high school setter award is fake and actually some arts-and-crafts project made by Kosaku's baby sister. “ _Impossible_. You know that dinosaur game you can play when there’s no WiFi? We livestreamed on his screen once and he kept on fuckin’ up. How can ya suck so hard at a game that only needs you to press the spacebar?”

“How can ya suck so hard to fall for a guy like _that_?”

Atsumu responds by hauling Osamu up and throwing him a good ten feet away from them. Suna stays in place and watches Osamu stomp towards his sibling. Their voices should be harder to hear, but their default mode around each other has always been _constantly shouting_ , so Suna can hear everything, even if the twins think he can’t. “Shaddap! And I know what yer tryna do. It won’t work; I wanna see Suna’s place.”

“‘Tsumu, ya dimwit, we can’t go to a place we ain’t invited to.”

“Don’t ya think it’s weird though?” demands Atsumu, who is trying his best to land a good punch to his twin and failing because Osamu's stopping him by blocking his fist with his palm and not letting go. “He’s been to our place countless times but we haven’t even seen what his street looks like!”

“That’s ‘cause we _invite_ him over; have ya ever stopped to realize that?” 

“Aren’t ya curious, even just a ‘lil bit?”

Osamu loosens his grip on his brother, and Atsumu must sense that it’s serious, because he doesn’t pull through with his punch. “What’s there to be curious ‘bout? If he ain’t tellin’ me or showin’ me, it means it ain’t anythin’ important enough for me to know. Suna ain’t the type to keep stuff from us for stupid shit like bein’ afraid or whatever. ‘Sides, there ain’t nothin’ to be ‘afraid of, and I don’t think Suna has a secret sibling or somethin’. Yer just projectin’.”

Suna doubts the twins realize that he can hear them, and he doubts that Osamu is lying, because he’s not the type. He won’t fight his way into finding something out or dig deeper into stories if people don’t want him to know about it. It’s not out of any mindset of respectfulness, and it’s not because he doesn’t care. Osamu just trusts that people will be honest with him the same way he’s honest with them. 

And he trusts Suna to be honest, always has. He doesn't have to do it and Osamu will accept it as no big deal, but then Suna would be betraying that trust because he'd be lying about it because it _is_ a big deal to him, which is why he's reluctant in the first place, and he doesn't want to do that. 

The complications and contradictions make him fret for a second before it's overcome by a sudden, strong wave of annoyance. He's overthinking it. It's not that deep. Suna can either show them or not. It's not about trust or overcoming anything or proving oneself. This isn't an entrance exam or a volleyball match. It's just friends wanting to see another friend's goddamn house. 

“You’re blowing things out of proportion,” Suna echoes the words in his head, walking up to them. Osamu and Atsumu pull away from one another to look at Suna. “Look, I still have some self-preservation instincts left. If I had to choose, I’d rather you wreck your own house than mine.” 

“Hey, we were well-behaved when we went over to Kita-san’s,” Atsumu protests. 

Suna gives him an unimpressed look. “His grandma is scarier than him, and my old man isn’t coming home until later.” And thank God for that. Suna wouldn’t even entertain the possibility of the twins coming over if his dad didn’t have work today. He sighs. “Look, just don’t—just don’t break anything and don’t be too loud, because the neighbors are going to complain. Pretend this is Kita-san’s house all over again.” 

Except not as big. Or as nice. 

Suna shares a gate with his other neighbors. The six townhouses are squeezed together in one huge lot, three on one side and three on the other. They share a parking lot too, but considering that half of the residents don’t own cars, it’s not that much of a tight fit. It’s usually hard to spot Suna’s house because of this, because it’s too easy to overlook that crowded space and assume it’s abandoned or occupied entirely by one family, even if reality is much different. 

Suna has three keys, one for the gate, another for his house, and another for his room. He’s lived here his entire life, but he still doesn’t know which is which because they all look identical and he always forgets to put notable markers, so he ends up fumbling with them for a few seconds before they’re able to step in. Since it’s midday, most of the cars are gone and the lot is clear. When Suna was younger and wasn’t allowed to go out because he had to watch the house or look after his mother, he would step outside the house while she slept to play volleyball by himself, tossing the ball towards the wall and receiving it when it bounced back. 

The twins step past the gate’s entrance and look around. The first thing Atsumu says is, “Wow, this place reeks.”

Suna expects Osamu to berate Atsumu for being so tactless, but instead, the other twin says, “It’s ‘cause of the cars that were probably here earlier. You probably wouldn’t know ‘cause ya smell like gasoline and smoke all the damn time.”

“Since when!”

Suna doesn’t know why he expected any sort of delicacy or sensitivity regarding his home situation, but he isn’t as hurt by it as he thought he would. They aren’t really insulting anything, and it’s not like it isn’t true anyway. They’re just being themselves, and Suna supposes that’s the best he could ask for with regards to this stuff. After all, if they act like nothing is out of the ordinary, like they’re just visiting any other friend’s house—and they _are_ , technically—then Suna has to do the same. It’s a smart way to look at it, just so Suna won’t get too conscious and regret his decision to bring them over. 

Eyeing the twins though, he figures he’s going to regret it anyway, but maybe in a different kind of way. He can’t tell whether to be relieved by the possibility or not. 

Suna’s house is on the other side, the furthest one from the gate. He expects more comments from the twins, but the only thing Atsumu says by the time they reach his house is, “No wonder ya said the neighbors will complain from the noise. This place is kinda cramped. Are ya friends with any of yer neighbors?”

“No,” Suna says, unlocking the door. “I don’t even know them.” They change every few years. He and his dad are the only people that he knows haven’t moved. Then, just to mess with Atsumu, “My old man says it’s ‘cause this place is haunted.”

Suna crosses the threshold. Osamu follows right after him, but he’s stopped halfway when Atsumu grabs the hem of his shirt. “What?” Osamu asks, annoyed, turning back to his brother. 

“‘Samu, I’m too young to be haunted by ghosts.”

“Shaddap, ya overgrown baby.”

In terms of height, Suna’s house beats the Miya’s since he lives in a two and a half story building, but in terms of length and width, it’s two-thirds of the Miya’s living room, dining area, and kitchen combined. While the Miya’s have fancy paintings framed and protruding plants hung on their walls, Suna’s is mostly empty of any decor with a few pictures here and there, all taken by his mom. The stairwell landing can only allow one person to pass by at a time because half of the space is used up for the shoe rack and the toolbox. The second floor is just his dad’s master bedroom and a small storage closet, and then the last is really just the attic area that they’ve made into Suna’s room. 

At home, he’s always eaten his meals in his room, on the kitchen counter beside the sink, or the living room, so dining tables are a practice he only gets to experience when he eats in other places. The first thing you’ll run into when you step in Suna’s house is the stairwell and then a narrow corridor to where the living room is, the couch right under the stairs and facing the TV, and then the kitchen far ahead, one-third the size of the Miya twins’ own kitchen.

It’s a small house by all means, but it’s a fitting space for two residents who don’t even stay home often.

The plan had been for them to take a quick detour to Suna’s place so he can get the extra battery for his camera and then proceed to the siblings’ house, but then Atsumu and Osamu ignore his request and insist on seeing his room. Suna says no and leaves them there. 

When he returns downstairs, battery pack in hand, it’s to Osamu abruptly declaring, “Let’s bake the cake here.”

Suna almost drops the battery. He means to say a disbelieving _“what”_ , but what comes out instead is, “This is not why I invited you over.”

“I mean, ya technically didn’t,” Atsumu pipes up. Suna shoots him a withering glare. 

“Why can’t we do it in your house?”

“Our parents are home.”

Suna blinks. “And?”

“They’re havin’ a home dinner date, whatever that means.” Atsumu makes a disgusted face. 

“So that means they’re raidin’ the kitchen for the time bein’, so we can’t use it,” supplies Osamu. “But yer dad ain’t gonna be home just yet, will he?”

Suna considers lying, but he also knows that won’t work because he said his dad’s going to finish working late. If the twins’ parents are already preparing dinner, that means it must be later than he thought. “Doesn’t baking a cake take a long time? I don’t even think I have the ingredients.”

“Oh, don’t worry, we ain’t gonna bake an actual cake,” Osamu reassures him. “Momma doesn’t want me makin’ whole desserts ‘cause they’re harder to finish and we haveta waste time findin’ people to give ‘em to. We’re doin’ somethin’ small, and the ingredients are pretty basic, so you should have ‘em. Don’t worry. It’ll be simple.”

Suna frowns, still doubtful. Atsumu reaches over the couch to pat Suna’s arm consolingly. “Listen, don’t worry, Sunarin, I getcha. I don’t wanna do this anymore than you do, but think of it this way: if we do what ‘Samu wants and finish this fast, the sooner the two of us are gonna get outta yer hair.”

Osamu scowls at his brother. “Don’t talk like ya ain’t benefittin’ from this.” Then he looks to Suna, raising an eyebrow. “Suna?”

He has an apron on. Suna knows it’s his, but he has no idea where Osamu found it. It’s plain white with an onigiri printed at the center. He looks ridiculously good wearing it, and it’s not just because Osamu loves onigiri. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he’s wearing that apron and standing right in Suna’s tiny kitchen. It’s different from when he was doing so back in his own house—this one feels more domestic, because this is Suna’s territory, and these are things that belong to him, and Osamu fits right into the scene easily. 

The picture looks right. Suna’s fingers twitch, itching for his camera to snap a photo. 

He settles for taking one in his head instead. He also ends up saying yes. Osamu grins, awfully pleased, like the younger did him a favor by agreeing even though Suna feels like he’s the lucky one here. This is ridiculous; he’s so ridiculous. Crushes, affection, _love_ —it’s all so ridiculous. 

* * *

Growing up, Suna learned a bit of cooking from constantly watching his mom do it. She was a master at her craft in every way when she went off to work and wore her uniform when she stepped into her restaurant’s kitchen, but here, in the safehaven of their house, she was average, just like every other mom. Compared to his clumsy dad and a six year old son who wasn’t that good at using his fingers though, she was still considered a professional. 

He mostly spent his time clinging onto his mother’s leg or tiptoeing to peek at whatever she was trying to mix or cut, unable to provide much assistance and do anything more than really just _watch_ , but he had a knack for acting quickly when trying to recover falling objects, a result of his quick reflexes and ability to twist his torso in odd angles to reach things. The floor had always been practically spotless because of him. Every time he’d save something from falling, his mother would smile and squeeze his shoulder reassuringly and he’d remember it like it was a photograph he hung up in the blank walls of his mind. 

Now, when he saves something from falling—the ball, _always the ball_ , because that’s how you keep the game going—he gets back claps and compliments from his teammates. Osamu never really says anything, quieter than usual when he’s on court until Atsumu will do something to exasperate him, but he’ll always walk over to Suna to bump his shoulder and grin to communicate his satisfaction, the pride he feels for his friend, and Suna basks in the moment. 

His mom ( _Suna Rin_ , and that’s why the first thing he did when Atsumu tried calling him by _Rin_ instead of _Suna_ or _Rintarou_ or _‘Tarou_ was to make a twisted expression so out of character that the setter remodified it into the butchered _Sunarin_ he uses today, which isn’t really better, but Atsumu has a peculiar way of saying things that make them seem different from they really are) and Osamu they don’t have the same kind of smile. It’s not possible for two people to have the exact look, in the first place, but the way Suna reacts to the sight is the same: the blooming warmth in his chest, the desire to mimic the expression with looser limbs and pride, the instinctive, mental shutter of an intangible photo to keep safely tucked in his figurative storage of memories. 

(His father told him, _You took after me in that sense. We have a type_. Suna didn’t have a good rebuttal to that observation, and until now, the most he could think of to say in reply is, _We do._ )

Though the stars of the show are supposed to be Osamu _and_ Atsumu, Osamu insists that Suna should be the one he does this with because the viewers want to see his face—his appearance in the Pablo segment apparently doesn’t count—and Atsumu supports the idea of Suna working with Osamu to make the cake, though that’s really just because Atsumu doesn’t want to do any work. The setter is so desperate to escape Osamu’s clutches that he offers to play cameraman instead and handle the closeup shots of them working since the main camera is stationary, but Osamu and Suna both know Atsumu will do such a piss-poor job at it that Osamu will just end up getting mad when he checks the footage. They end up exiling Atsumu to the foot of the stairwell and Suna just lends him his laptop and CDs of his favorite play-offs so the setter has something to do. 

It’s the first time in years that Suna has ever had to share a kitchen with someone, and he realizes now that the space can’t quite occupy two the same way it could before. Then again, his mother was around five and a half feet and Suna barely reached her waist. Now he’s a second year high school student, and Osamu and Suna both stand at six feet, proud and tall and only growing from there. 

Trying to work out the logistics and the mechanics of how they’re going to record it is difficult to do since their backs will be turned to the camera if they work on the kitchen countertop, so they end up lugging the ingredients to the coffee table and set the camera on the desk where the mini TV stands. 

The ingredients are spread out on the table. Suna is right beside Osamu. The camera’s recording button is on. He wants to say, _I don’t want to do this._ He wants to say, _Why do I have to do this?_ He wants to say, _When I told you I’d help that time when you pinned me to the wall, it wasn’t to do something like this._

What he ends up saying is, “How come only you have an apron?”

“Yer stingy,” Osamu whines, and it doesn’t make sense. “I think I look better in it than you do.”

 _You do._ Suna thinks, but of course he’s not going to say it. “Maybe I’ll look better in that fox apron of yours.”

“Maybe,” Osamu considers. “Yer face is kinda like a fox.”

Suna groans. “Not this again. If you start spewing some shit about Inari gods and foxes, I’ll leave.” 

“Hey, I didn’t say anythin’. Yer the one tellin’ me all this,” Osamu says, raising his hands up in surrender. “Also, ya can’t leave. This is yer house.”

Suna just rolls his eyes, but they’re both smiling just a bit. 

“Anyways,” Osamu looks straight at the camera and beams, and it’s like a switch has just been flipped. “‘Cause we’re tryna determine what’s the most ‘worth it’ among all the choices, makin’ an actual cake seemed pretty stupid since the ones we went to weren’t the usual too. That’s why we’re doin’ microwavable lava cake.” 

Considering that Osamu gets the same grades as Suna in oral exams, it’s a bit startling to see that he sounds like a natural as he talks to the camera. Suna has already known that Osamu has a nice-talking voice even if, at its core, it’s basically Atsumu’s voice toned down by three notches. He was there and watched the recordings, after all, but it’s different when Suna is right next to him instead of a few meters away, like the appeal gets more apparent. 

Then again, this is about food, so it only makes sense that Osamu sounds confident and looks so at ease, as if he doesn’t have anything to hide or pretend to be. 

He’d been right when he told Suna that it was simple. It’s just flour, sugar, cocoa powder, oil, milk, and baking powder. The quantity is pretty small too, save for the flour, which is a bit more by a notable margin. There’s no egg, which Suna finds pretty weird because he knows almost all pastries kind of need that, but Osamu says to trust him, and he does. They’re making two, because the size of one is the exact size of Suna’s smallest bowls, which is where he typically puts dips. 

He doesn’t really find himself talking. There's no actual conversation going on and he isn’t one for making side comments for no good reason, but it’s not that bad because Osamu needs to explain the process aloud to the viewers as he makes the cake. Suna briefly ends up reeling back to his cameraman role briefly just to take the appropriate closeup shots so there’s more variety to their content. In the background, he can barely make out Atsumu loudly declaring that he’ll be right back because he wants to get something from his house. Osamu doesn’t even glance back to acknowledge him. 

“I just realized we could’ve split the recording,” Suna says, as he copies Osamu and starts making his own batch of the cake. “Do two filming sets. One with only closeup shots, and the other for the wide shot entirely.”

“If we did that, ya would’ve never shown yer face on the screen,” Osamu points out. 

“I showed it in Pablo’s.”

“Doesn’t count.” Osamu rolls his eyes. “Don’t get why yer so against it. It’s not like people don’t already see ya around ‘cause of tournaments, and it’s not like yer face is a bad one.”

Technically speaking, Osamu just complimented his face. Suna doesn’t know what to say to that. Does he compliment him back? But that might come out weird and awkward, and it’s not like Osamu _doesn’t_ know it. He gets two confessions at the end of every month and his brother is Atsumu, who Suna knows looks at himself in the mirror every pre-match with the look that says he _knows_ he’s handsome. 

Maybe Suna just shouldn’t say anything at all. It’s not like Osamu seems to expect a reply. 

The lava cake isn't difficult to make. Suna is just a bit clumsy, and he ends up mixing the dry ingredients a bit too hard and flinging some of it out of the bowl. It’s embarrassing, but Osamu just bumps his shoulder playfully before helping Suna mix it properly, _holding_ his fucking hand to quickly show him the proper way to do it. Suna can feel his cheeks burn, but Osamu isn’t looking at him, and all he can is hope that the camera doesn’t catch his expression. When Osamu pulls away so Suna can do it himself, the younger can’t help but regret the loss, but their shoulders end up touching for a while, so it’s not bad. Contact is still contact, after all. The oil and milk makes things a lot easier, but Suna humiliates himself again by putting in a bit too much oil because he pours it onto the measuring spoon too quickly. Osamu just gives him an unimpressed look, and though Suna’s only reply is a defensive eye roll, Osamu ends up laughing. 

Suna hates this. He’s happy, and he doesn’t want this to stop. 

“'Tarou,” Osamu suddenly says, after Suna forgoes baking to take another brief closeup of Osamu mixing the wet and dry ingredients together because he seems to be almost done. “Chocolate chips or chocolate bar?”

Suna frowns. “Since when did I have chocolate chips?”

“It’s in the back of yer fridge. You didn’t answer, so I’m goin’ for chips. Can ya get ‘em for me?”

“I can’t believe you know my fridge better than me,” says Suna, shaking his head, but he’s just amused, if anything, and stands up to do as Osamu asks. “Is this for the filling?”

“It wouldn’t be a lava cake if there was nothin’ inside.” Osamu explains, getting a few chocolate chips with the tips of his fingers and trying to clump them together. He places them gently on the center of the cake and gets a spoon to try and shove them down to the bottom. 

“I don’t think they’re going to stick together,” Suna points out. 

“Shush.” 

When Osamu is satisfied, Suna grabs the camera so they can film the cake being microwaved. Suna has to find a way to adjust the placement of his camera so that it can video the heating process nicely and in a way that doesn’t require him to hold it and stay still until it’s done cooking because he thinks his arms might cramp up. But he doesn't own anything stable and high enough to place the camera a suitable distance away from the microwave. It’s a bit tricky, so Suna ends up messing with the zoom settings, and that’s when Osamu says, “Why’s there an empty wine bottle beside yer knives?”

Still looking at the camera, Suna briefly hesitates. Then, “It’s a makeshift rollin’ pin.”

Osamu falls silent for a few seconds. Suna steals a glance, but instead of looking weirded out, he looks thoughtful. “Creative,” he comments. “Momma usually throws away the wine bottles once she’s done with them.”

“What else did you expect her to do, use it as bowling pins?” 

“'Tarou, dammit, why do ya gotta make good jokes when Kita-san ain’t here to hear it,” Osamu swears. He isn’t even laughing, but the look on his face speaks of nothing but pure mirth, like Suna really did say something funny. “He would’ve laughed so hard he’d be rollin’ on the floor.”

“You and Atsumu just have low standards for humor.”

“Stingy.” Suna laughs at that. “We’re comedy monsters, if you must know.”

“You wish,” Suna shoots back. “I found it kind of weird we didn’t have a rolling pin though. My mom used to make pizza dough when I was younger. But I can't remember if she was using a pin or a wine bottle.”

“Probably a wine bottle,” Osamu supplies. “You had to get that resourcefulness somewhere.”

“I don’t think it counts as resourcefulness if I’m just recycling someone else’s idea,” Suna says absentmindedly. “But you’re right. It definitely wouldn’t be from my old man. He’s kinda hopeless with stuff like that, doesn’t really like doing anything if he can help it.”

“I kinda wanna meet him. Just to see how much ya take after him."

“No way,” Suna firmly says. “He’s kinda weird. Quiet too. He doesn't like to help because he says he prefers watching me try to make new stuff, but won’t tell me why. Not that it’s hard to guess.”

“That just makes him more interestin’ to me,” Osamu replies. “But he sounds like ya. The being weird part. The quiet too.”

Suna isn’t really listening anymore, so he just hums. He continues skimming past the camera’s options, looking for a way to make the lens zoom out enough to capture the entire microwave instead of just a portion of it. A few more minutes pass with Suna finding nothing, and it’s starting to frustrate him. 

“You can always use a tripod, y'know,” Osamu suddenly interjects. “If ya got that kinda thing.”

Suna stops. Osamu looks at him with anticipation, but he isn’t saying anything. “I hate you,” Suna tells him flatly. “How long were you planning on watching me figure this out like an idiot?” 

Osamu just shrugs. “What? It was kinda fun, watchin’ ya.” 

Suna doesn’t even have time to process the words before Osamu offers him a smile. It’s sheepish, but it’s also just as dazzling as the rest of his smiles; there’s nothing Suna can do but look away and stutter out that he’s going to get his tripod, which he knows is just behind the couch. 

Walking away from Osamu lets him get a better bearing of his surroundings, and he realizes that it’s a lot later than he thought. “Osamu,” he calls out, returning to the kitchen. “It’s getting late.”

“I know,” Osamu says, pocketing the phone he just took out. “I thought it was weird ‘Tsumu never came back, but apparently he ended up gettin’ caught up in his video games with _aceomi10_ and forgot all ‘bout us.” 

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” grumbles Osamu. “Good riddance.”

Suna gives him a funny look. “You’re seeing him when you get home?”

Osamu closes his eyes and groans. “Shaddap. Yer gonna make me cry.”

They’re both quiet as they spend 70 seconds watching the lava cake bake. They’re two six-footer high schoolers and the kitchen space is cramped, so their shoulders are pressing against one another again. Suna normally wouldn’t bat an eye at this kind of thing, because affection is pretty common, especially among close friends, but he also knows that the both of them aren’t the type to actively seek and initiate physical contact. 

Suna can’t help but think it means something, the same way he thinks there’s some special meaning behind the smiles Osamu gives him. But he also knows that having a crush means seeing everything in a different light, and it’s not always in the correct one. 

Suna ends up pulling away, just in time for the microwave to ding and to declare the cake already done. If Osamu notices, he doesn’t let it show. 

* * *

Later, after they’re finished wrapping up the video and eaten the lava cake Osamu made—which they shared, and Suna can’t believe there’s existing footage of just him and Osamu sharing a small bowl of cake like a _couple_ except they’re _not_ —Osamu tells him not to bake the second lava cake just yet, but to instead do it when his dad gets home. 

“Osamu,” Suna says. “Why’d you suddenly decide to make microwavable cake? The real reason.” 

On the walk home, he remembers Osamu clearly telling Atsumu the kind of cake he’d been planning on making—some kind of funfetti vanilla cake, and how he’d been planning on putting a special coffee-tasting filling in between one of the layers and melted chocolate in the other. A twenty-minute lava cake had been a far cry from that detailed plan that would probably take five hours to complete, almost like it was the furthest thing from his mind, but it’s what they ended up doing. Suna finds it hard to believe that Osamu only changed his mind last minute due to time constraints. He’s stubborn like Atsumu is, after all. 

“It wasn’t like I was lyin’ to the audience,” Osamu replies. Suna rolls his eyes and is about to say that he knows, but Osamu continues. “But I did it ‘cause I wanted to teach it to ya so you’d be able to easily make it for yer dad.” 

Suna pauses and lets the words sink in. “What does my old man have to do with anything?”

“Nothin’.” Osamu shrugs. “You said he likes watchin’ ya try new stuff, so I thought it’d be a good idea to teach ya how to make somethin’ ya never tried before. I think he’ll like it, even if there aren’t any eggs in it. He likes eggs, doesn’t he?”

Suna just nods dumbly in agreement, too taken aback by the situation and the intentions behind Osamu’s actions that had been so subtle but also obvious enough if Suna actually thought about it. But he didn't because those were all just casual remarks he'd been making, with no intention to let them be taken seriously or be remembered. 

It doesn’t change the fact that he’s touched by Osamu’s thoughtfulness. He’s never cared enough about the possibility of someone _caring_ , because he never needed anyone to, but Osamu is doing this because he _wants_ to care. Because he already does. 

“I—” Suna starts, and then he stops when he realizes what he’d been about to say. _I like you_. His cheeks burn. There’s no way he can tell Osamu that. “Thank you.” he says instead. 

Osamu simply hums, more engrossed in his task of wiping the dirty plates and utensils. Not knowing what else to go, Suna reaches for the cling wrap to cover the raw cake batter. 

“What time does yer dad usually come home?” asks Osamu. “I still wanna meet him. The Great Suna Tatsuya.”

Suna scoffs. “He won’t be home ‘till midnight. He works late on Thursdays.” 

“Damn. Momma ain’t gonna let me stay that late.”

“Of course she won’t,” says Suna. “Why do you wanna meet him so badly?”

“So I can get yer parent’s blessin’,” Osamu deadpans. Then, “I’m just kiddin’. You don’t need to look so scandalized.”

“I’m not,” Suna says defensively, rolling his eyes for good measure, even though his heart is hammering against his chest. He doesn’t get why Osamu is saying all this, even if he is joking. Or maybe it’s just becoming more ridiculous to Suna because ever since summer started, his feelings for Osamu have only been growing more and more. He feels like he should say something, so he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, “You can meet my mom though.”

Osamu slowly stops drying the plate and carefully puts it on the rack. He isn’t looking at Suna. “What?” he asks, like he can’t believe what he just heard. 

Suna can’t believe it either, but there’s no way he’s backing out from his statement, because that would just be weird, and when he thinks about it, he doesn’t actually mind the thought. It’s not like Osamu is going to _actually_ ask for his mom’s blessing, after all, and he probably just wants to meet Suna’s parents in general. Friends do that, and Osamu is his _best friend_ , so it—it makes sense. 

Suna shrugs. “You can meet her. If you want. I see your mom all the time.”

“It's 'cause she loves ya." 

“I know.” 

Osamu rolls his eyes. “Stop being’ so smug ‘bout it.”

“She said she sees me as another son.” 

Osamu blushes at that, and he covers his face with his hands. Suna doesn't see this kind of flustered state from the other often. “Oh my god.” His mortification makes Suna laugh. Osamu looks up from his hands. “But are ya serious? About lettin’ me meet yer mom?”

It’s really not a bad idea, nor is it a big of a deal. “Sure. What time do you need to be home?”

“Before eight. Momma still wants me to pick somethin’ up for ‘Tsumu on the way back since she didn’t cook enough and doesn’t wanna.”

It’s already seven. “Alright. We can go now.”

They’re both quiet as they make their way upstairs and step in the master bedroom. The Butsudan is right in front of a bed that looks mostly unused. Though his mom is buried in a graveyard, Suna and his dad have always gone here to pay respects instead. It’s always been more personal to do it here, instead of going all the way to a cemetery where there are other people, mourning their own deceased loved ones. 

Osamu and Suna both kneel down in front of the altar. There’s a framed picture of his mother that sits at the center, a candid Suna took during her last birthday. She had been facing away from the camera, but at the last minute, his dad had called for her attention, so she twisted her head back to look at him and Suna snapped the photo. There had been a gentle smile on her face, a strand of hair falling in front of her face. It was too perfect of a moment. 

“Huh,” Osamu starts, voice much quieter than before. “You have the same eyes.”

“Yeah,” Suna agrees softly. “We do.”

For a few moments, they don’t say anything. “We don’t have anythin’ like this at home.” Osamu tells Suna. “When we go visit Gramps, it’s always in his grave. ‘S kinda hard to be personal when we’re in public, so that’s why we usually have’ta go stand in front of his stone one by one and say somethin’.”

“That makes sense.” Suna remarks. He doesn’t know what to do. Do they do a prayer together? Does he introduce his mom to Osamu? Both ideas seem weird. Is there something Osamu wants to particularly do? Suna has no idea. 

Suna’s phone buzzes all of a sudden. It’s from Atsumu. Osamu sees his brother’s name on Suna’s screen from the corner of his eye and explains. “I blocked his number. Can ya tell him to screw off?”

Atsumu is calling now. Suna sighs. “Yeah, sure.” He stands up, but before he makes his way to the door, he pauses. “Can I leave you here?”

“Sure,” Osamu says smoothly. “I’ll give a prayer.”

Suna nods and then leaves the room. He considers declining the call, but he knows that Atsumu is just going to continue calling him until he gives in, so he answers it. 

_“Did ‘Samu block me ‘cause he was too busy suckin’ yer dick?_ ” is the first thing Atsumu asks. 

“What, _no_.” Suna narrows his eyes even if Atsumu can see him. “Atsumu, if you keep on jumping to conclusions like that, he’ll find out.”

_“Find out what?”_

“Don’t make me say it.” 

He can hear Atsumu sigh on the other end. _“You underestimate my brother, Sunarin."_

"What does that mean?" 

_"It means he ain’t_ that _stupid.”_

Suna tightens the grip on his phone. “What?”

 _“I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this,"_ Atsumu huffs. " _But 'Samu ain’t that stupid. He’s just slow. And not like in some dumb, oblivious way. He likes takin’ his time, buildin’ things up gradually or some shit. It’s annoyin’. Like preppin’ a meal. He doesn’t mind the wait so long as the result is nice. He doesn’t like doin’ things immediately ‘cause he wants to make sure everythin’ meets his standards and everyone’s gettin’ the best experience or somethin’. It’s probably why he likes food so much. It takes forever to do, but at least the end is worth the effort and no one’s unhappy.”_

“Atsumu, you’re just rambling. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

_“Shaddap. Yer just dense as hell, but I swear if I have to deal with you two makin' love through eye contact alone, I’m gonna carve both yer eyes out and feed it to Aran-kun’s foreign dog.”_

“You’re disgusting, and Ojiro-san doesn’t own any pets. It’s Kita-san who has a dog.” 

_"Whatever. You of all people don’t have the right to call me gross,"_ says Atsumu flippantly. _“Anyways, I’m leavin’. Tell ‘Samu I want that tuna from Family Mart.”_

The line cuts off. Suna stares at his phone before pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to stop his annoyance from surging through. He twists the knob and pushes the door. 

“—take care of him.”

Suna freezes. He hadn’t really been expecting anything, but if he ever was, it certainly isn’t the tail-end of whatever Osamu is apparently talking about to this mother. 

Osamu turns to him. “Oh. How was 'Tsumu?”

Suna closes the door. “The usual,” he says. “What were you telling her?”

Osamu is quiet for a few seconds. “Osamu?”

“Nothing.” Suna must make a face, because Osamu adds, “'Tarou, since when was tellin’ people what we prayed for a thing? Ain’t they s’pposed to be personal?”

Suna can’t disagree with that, even if the person Osamu had been praying to is _his_ mom, and he thinks there’s something the other isn’t telling him. 

In the end, Suna gives Osamu two instant ramen cups for him and his brother so that he can head straight home instead of going to a convenience store to buy something. If Osamu notices that Suna gives him the flavors the twins like best for this instant ramen brand, he doesn’t point it out, but he does make a small smile when he looks down at the plastic bag. 

Suna walks him to the gate after promising to upload all the videos in their drive like they did last time since Osamu is going to dedicate all his free time tomorrow before afternoon practice to editing. He ends up bringing his camera with him just so his hands can hold something, a poor attempt to hide his restlessness. To his luck, Osamu doesn’t ask, like he doesn’t find it weird. Suna doesn’t want him to leave, but it’s not like he can tell him to stay because Osamu has a curfew. The night feels incomplete though, like something should happen or something should be said. 

What though, Suna doesn’t know. Everything about today has honestly been strange, nothing like what he expected would be happening, even if it’s not necessarily a bad thing. 

Osamu pauses right when he’s about to cross over the threshold. Suna shoots him a quizzical look. The older looks hesitant, like he wants to say something. “Are you okay?”

Osamu looks at him. “I thanked her,” he suddenly says. It takes Suna a beat before he realizes what Osamu is talking about. “For takin’ care of ya all this time. And I,” He hesitates again, almost like he’s about to say something embarrassing, but then continues even without Suna’s prompting. It’s an odd sight to behold, when Osamu has always been so confident and certain about his actions. “I promised that I’ll try and ease the burden by helpin' out too. In lookin' after ya.” 

Oh. 

Suna opens his mouth, and then closes it. Osamu’s phrasing nags at him, and then he’s suddenly reminded of what Atsumu had been telling him on the phone earlier. It’s hard to pick apart the meaning behind their words, but Suna is starting to get it. Maybe. “Are you,” he begins saying, slightly unsure. “Do you—are you saying that you—you like me?”

Osamu blinks. “I've liked ya since first year. When we attended the _matsuri_ , I think.”

Oh. “Oh,” Suna says dumbly. 

“And I know ya like me too.”

“Oh.” Then, “ _What?_ ”

“You don’t?”

“No, I do.” And then he blushes at how easily he ends up saying it when all this time it’s been so freaking _hard_. What the hell? What is going on? What is this night turning into? “What the fuck, did I—did you—did we just—?”

“‘Tarou, will ya be my boyfriend?” Osamu abruptly asks. Suna gapes at him. “Sorry. I really gotta get home, but I wanted you to know.”

“I, sure—wait. _Wait_. Shit, Osamu, this is going way too fast.” Suna shakes his head. “I hate you. Let me process this first.”

“Fine.” Osamu’s mouth quirks up. He’s giving him that look again, and it’s only hitting Suna now that it’s fondness in Osamu’s eyes. Affection. Miya Osamu likes Suna Rintarou. Miya Osamu just asked Suna Rintarou if he could be his boyfriend. “I’ll give ya the night to let it sink in. but I still need those videos.”

“Yeah, yeah. You got it.” Suna agrees distractedly, and then he runs a hand through his face exhaustedly. He always thought moments like this go in slow fashion, the same way the build up is gradual and the happiest moments seem to stretch on forever, but those are in movies and stories told by romantics, and reality has never conformed to anyone's expectations than it's own. It's not bad, Suna thinks. He'll freak about it later, probably, but it also kind of feels like he's always known. “Goddammit, I _hate_ you.”

Instead of answering, Osamu just grins wider. Before Suna can even process it, Osamu leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. Suna is blushing before he even realizes what just happened. _I hate this guy_. Suna thinks. And then, _I can't believe I like him_. “I’ll see ya during practice tomorrow, ‘Tarou.” 

Osamu starts to walk away. Suna just watches him slowly leave with this strange sense of deja vu until—

“Osamu,” Suna calls out. Osamu stops. “Can you turn around?”

Osamu doesn’t even ask why. He turns his head to look back, and he smiles, like he already knows what Suna is thinking. 

Suna raises the camera and snaps a picture. 

* * *

**Worth It Ep 03: Suna Rintarou and Miya Osamu Being Gross Part 2 (ft. Milkshakes)**   
_by Miya Osamu_

2,708,371 views

 **Description:** [Worth It Ep 03: Milkshakes] The Miya twins try milkshakes with drastically different prices from two different stores before making their own homemade version to see which is the most worth it at its price. This is the third episode of a summer-long webshow created by Miya Atsumu, Miya Osamu, and Suna Rintarou. To see previous episodes, click here. For the milkshake recipe in this video, click here. For the creators’ social media, Atsumu’s is here. If you enjoyed it, hit the like button and subscribe to this channel for more content!

P.S. Stop following ‘Samu; he already has more than enough followers. 

**Comments** : 

**Miya Atsumu (Pinned):** **  
**I just wanna say that this wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t decided to do my slowass brother a favor and leave early back in the last episode (Worth It Ep 02: Suna Rintarou and Miya Osamu Being Gross Part 1) where Sunarin and ‘Samu were makin’ cakes together and actin’ like a bunch of boyfriends even though they weren’t together just yet. Y’all better thank me for this.

_(2.9k likes | 300 dislikes)_

> **Hirai Touka:**  
>  Thank you so much, Atsumu-san! They’re so cute fldjfkdlj
> 
> **inarizakids** :  
> This is basically that spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp but with milkshakes.
> 
> **Onigayri** :  
> I want someone to look at me the same way Osamu looks at Suna.
> 
> **Nakamura Aki** :  
> omg are they holding hands under the desk? 
> 
> **SUNAgakure** :  
> i’m so late to the pary omg suna and osamu are dating??? nooo suna is so freakin hot icb he’s taken :””””(
> 
> **Miya Osamu:**  
>  ‘Tsumu dammit, why d’ya hack into my account and change the title of ep 2 AND upload this? I’ll kill ya. 
> 
> **Nishigaki Ayato** :  
> What happened to this video? Was it hacked? This is just two minutes of that Miya twin and the cameraman sharing a three hundred yen milkshake. The description is misleading. 

**Miya Osamu:**  
Sorry. This ain’t the real vid since we just uploaded the second one a few days ago; it’s just ‘Tsumu being an ass. The actual thing’s comin’ out next week. 

Also, if I had to thank anyone, it would be aceomi10 for keepin’ yer dumbass distracted from tryna meddle with my life more. 

_(1.4k likes | 56 dislikes)_

> **Suna Rintarou:**  
>  Did Atsumu ever end up getting his name?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu:**  
>  Shaddap, you two! Just ‘cause yer both happy don’t mean you can shit on my parade. 

_(aceomi10 liked Miya Osamu’s comment)_

_(aceomi10 disliked Miya Atsumu’s comment)_

**Author's Note:**

> can u tell i can’t think of good internet names for anything? the last scene was also just a bonus thing i added to make up for the three more scenes that were supposed to be put before they got together. they also only bake pastries bc i personally am not knowledgeable enough in the art of legitimate cooking to write about it. i hope this was at least somewhat amusing because this was (originally) supposed to be a light-hearted, funny fic (if it’s not . . . then i’m sorry lmao bc this entire thing really got out of hand)
> 
> i imagine that sakusa got into video and comp games bc of komori but he actually really sucks, so he keeps at it to get better bc he's sakusa and meets atsumu along the way via online. also, i rlly support the headcanon that the miya twins are incredibly popular online.)
> 
> i had so many references and more detailed notes that i don't want to list down here to bore the shit out of you, so whoever is interested, here is a [carrd](https://softpunks.carrd.co/#worthit) containing all the anecdotes and research i did for this fic.
> 
> thank you for making it through this entire story! i’m at [@inarizakicks](https://twitter.com/inarizakicks) on twt, [@softpunks](http://softpunks.tumblr.com/) for tumblr, and [here](https://curiouscat.me/lightproof) if you wanna leave smth on cc :>
> 
> (unbeta'd. i'll get back to this fic later to do some edits, but feel free to also point some out to me!)


End file.
